A cold and dreary December rain
Poured down again, pitch black,
By 3.30pm, here in the sodding north.
He thought 'I'm within striking distance'
'I'm that close'. The ghost-voice of fear,
Was in his ear, but he ploughed on,
Taking out his phone, he found her number
Regardless. Logged on to their special site.
Left a message, as agreed, he was only 14,
After all. She replied with just a kiss.
The meeting was definitely fixed.
She'd told him to take the number 43
To get off outside the Co-op. Which he did.
Re-arranged hair to cover the 'monkish spot'
But it wasn't she who was there. A vigilante
spat out: 'Hey you, Paedo, move out, over here.'