8 Jun

A draft in the loosest sense..

Going with the porsche idea. realised in the session on friday that this is a poem about class (thanks Debs).

So I’m sorta exploring the weird feeling of my mate earning/owning this porsche, contrasted with my time in Grammar School.

Class is weird man.


The plan for the structure is sorta Porsche/School/Porsche.


A rough outline would look like this:


We, both nineteen.

Separated by three months 

and an off-limits ashtray.

the only thing weirder 

than the rate of acceleration, 

is that it’s YOUR Porsche.


When we fell out of college together,

you were caught by 15k a year.

Poetry is harder to hang onto.


Before I have time 

to process this,

we’re in Derby.




In History, I sit across from a girl

with a voice that sounds

like a Hollister shop feels.

Dark and disorientating.


Words I’ve always known

are softer, longer.

And her pencil case is more

than my rucksack.


We all need to go to uni.

We all say uni.

We don’t know we mean ‘money’





The two of us,

squeezed into this mechanical tuxedo.

Acceleration rabbit punch.

It’s a quick Cristal sip

down the gullet 

of the A52.’


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