Hand-Eye Co-ordination

She just stepped out!
two lads in a Corsa
sending her into the air;
no sound came out, only a deep thud.
Tights were torn at the knees
blood darkened in the nylon.
Asking to go home for a cup of tea
I took it to be a good sign,
embarrassed because she’d lost control.

The phone box stunk of piss
handset half melted by some Zippo.
In the panic my lips touched
a gobbed on receiver,
I thought of AIDS and swallowing spittoons.
Ambulance please,
there’s been an accident,
Park road shops,
no they don’t have bloody numbers
hurry please, she’s in pain.

Eileen,
it was embroidered on dirty pink slippers
in which she shuffled to the perspex off licence,
twenty B&H and a half bottle of whiskey
every Friday night with sausage chips and gravy,
but this was a Thursday, she’d run out of milk
and I couldn't stop her.