Salmon Poetry

Hard Chaw

Harry was her fellah

but only cos she said so.

Too scared to refuse,

he walked her home;

promised to sit with her

at the Saturday game.

They met at half past,

walked with the crowd

to the grassy goal end,

bumping shoulders

just a little too often.

If he had to kiss her

it would be his first.

At half time he heard

her whisper low

he loves me / he loves me not.

Surprised, he leaned in,

then saw her bitten fingers

slowly pulling the legs

from a living spider.

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