The velvet rope we would chicken-limbo under
Hey you two, that’s VIP!
Girls, girls, girls
our hands clamp
the back of our dresses down
the way our tongues could hold contraband;
gum, a cherry drop,
the morning-after pill
We shimmy under and into –

The white balloon of waiting

boobs about to blow

double lessons swelling

the crush calling

Hello?

Those all-American high-school corridors,
rendered here, in marshiest south-east London.
Waxed blonde pine; new girl limbs
and locker-flanked – not a love note inside.
Not a bad word from a bully either. No
I know what you did last summer
just yesterday’s banana
rotting gently in the corner.

And the French-fry sunlight pouring in
through the double doors, the forbidden outside.

Stack the chairs neatly, 9B! I said Neatly!
Leaning tower of lapis. Stacks on stacks on stacks,
bums and laps, lean-back-straddle.

She’s holding her breath
because his hand’s on her corsaged shoulder

Till uni do us part.

Swear Down/I Promise

I’ll remember your full name
and where it came in the register
for the rest of my life.

The straightening
till the irons smoked
and screeched
and the whole top deck
of the 401 sang
of the burning.

The turkey-twizzlering
till the wand smoked
and shrieked
and the hair extensions
slackened
at the almost-root

All that hair
curled and laid
in a line
on the bed
from 5 a.m.
for Vinny
for the kitten
he actually bought her
to be crowned
the hottest girl in year 11.

Bird-shit eyes we called her. So much mascara and white eyeliner!

And the upside-down tiara of her smile.

Baby hairs toothbrushed and laid. Dollar signs.
Nails extra taloned, square-tipped, Tipp-Ex white
Her hand clutching purse, or inna de air.

If you do pink, I’ll go red.
One white, one black trainer.
One green eye, one blue
the sharing of all things –
coloured contact lenses, hairbands,
diamanté thongs, phone minutes,
prescriptions, gel pens.
One Barbour, one fake Burberry bag,
one gold dolly necklace
between three best friends.

Prom King, Prom Queen, Prom Kiss, Prom Princess, Prom Jester, Prom Hater, Prom Prince, Prom Lover, Prom Cruiser, Prom ‘Caterer’, Prom Committee, Prom Devotee, Prom Leaver, Prom Dreamer, Prom Bouncer, Prom Heaver, Prom Shaker, Prom Teaser, Prom Believer

Warren became a mechanic
Delvin prison
Thingy who sat next to Warren had a substance abuse problem
I bumped into Vince and Steve in Canary Wharf once
Only one of them worked there I think.
Did you hear about what happened to Jermaine?
No
Man’s a –

History

Miss Grant said I looked like Scarlett O’Hara in my pink ruched satin.
Kyra wore mint. Together we look like a ham sandwich.
That last term I’d written Miss Grant a letter –
what she said about the strange sound probably coming from
Francesca’s afro upset me. She was very upset, and then sorry.
It was years till I got around to reading Gone with the Wind,
which got me over a very bad break-up.
I carried that book under my arm for weeks, then left it in a pub.
After our prom, Kyra and I realised
we couldn’t afford the limo all the way home,
so we asked the driver to catch the night bus up for us.
Here we are, kinda forever, Kyra and I, top deck, a kebab each.

Photograph © Lewis Khan