Car booting

Over the dewy 7am grass, your feet trundle in the drones.
A collective muster in the foreground,
Sun hats and sandles
You rifle through my shit.
You cast your pirate eyes over memories of mine,
An autobiography I once loved lies desperate on the cloth.
Not worth more than the price of a pink lady to you.
The bag with a hole in the pocket
which I tore climbing that mountain with him,
is worth nothing to you. If only you knew.
Crest tattoos, I’m better than you.
Your skin-swallowing leggings and your cigarette butts,
Your 8am track suits make me sad and I know that I don’t fit here.
Your bleach hair and your gold teeth as you drag your feet.
You debate a used nail varnish for 20p.

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