If old raincoats could talk

Once, drunk and out dancing
I slid off a bar stool
he didn't even notice, I was carried home
and left to dry out; on a chair.

We used to stride on Lakeland fells,
wind lashed lake side paths,
keeping close we kept each other warm,
I held mint cake he had the guide map.

Now if we go walking it’s late at night,
he’s ashamed to be seen with me
and feels the cold rain passing through thin skin,
I hold dog biscuits and scented bags.

A cig in the garden if I’m lucky
we never really go out any more,
when we do it always seems to rain,
anyway that mirror in the hall makes me look tired.

Ohhh but one more chance
to feel warm sun softening my shoulders,
thrown down in long grass,
picnic blanket pillow talk,
too hot to walk, dusty tracks
arms wrapped round his neck,
piggyback.