Wrapped asleep tight in a box like this box
at fourteen I dreamt in red
like a dog dreams of rolling belly up for fun
and of my red riding hood
where the wolf lies red belly up too
split like her lids
red with acne…
She was tucked up in a YHA bunk
and I was out and about
sticky in trouble with Steve B and Steve T
wrapped slept together by rain in a phone box.
And awake, and cold, and dream stopped
for no light yet but the dimmest, slowest hint toward the sea.
So we left the red box behind
and as we walked a silver road south
through the orange sheen lit Downs towns
she sank bleached and pink in her bed
and dreamt not of me but of Steve B
So we reached Bournemouth
the wolf, the other and I.
shaking legs and fags we stood and sucked the sea mist in
like ale we belched and howled back
and spat it like our heroes spat.
While she lay white now
a milky feast fit for a pup
or a cub
or for me.
so we slept like dolls, Steve T, Steve B and me
in a bus shelter.
Till the sun blue and the bus came
and she and me grew red again.