She says, well you look great now
you’ve lost so much weight,
looking up the Lower Clapton Road
where a black zigzag of a ravine
stretches from the chemist on the corner
to the doner where they sell rum baba,
and she adds, you could even wear shorts,
while my bra strap bites into the nub
of my shoulder bone newly appeared
and my astonished and astonishing
baby also looks up the Lower Clapton Road,
wondering how the thirty-eight bus
will cope with that ravine, as clearly
there is no way around it, that’s for sure.
