And I remember

him opening the door

saying Come in, make yourself at home.

Wanting to show it off, like you do

with a new place.

And walking into a big, bare lounge,

not a stick of furniture in it,

just a mustard-coloured carpet

and a view out over Leeds.

Thinking Shit, that’s depressing

thank god I don’t live here.

But knowing what it means to him.

 

Him putting stuff away in the kitchen

pulls 2 litres of martini, 12 cans of brew

from the shopping bags, saying

Well I cut a bit loose at the weekends.

Pulls a can of glue from the bottom,

sees my face, says

Only a can a day now

used to be six or seven. 

Me thinking jesusfuckingchrist.

And no smack at all, he says,

rolling his sleeves way up

past home-made tattoos that spell

glasgow.
See? No tracks.

 

And him asking What’ll it be?

Brew? Glue? Martini?

Me saying No, really.

Him thinking I was trying to be polite
and me thinking It’s a quarter to ten

in the fucking morning.

Showing me round:

bathroom, bedroom, toilet,

look! I’ve got a cupboard.

Me saying Yeah. That’s great.

 

And back in the lounge

him handing me a letter.
Saying I wrote to the blood people

see if I could give.

Told them no more needles

just a little bit of glue,

nothing like I used to do.

and me seeing someone’s written to him

personally,

saying Sorry. No we can’t

but thanks for the offer,

all the best and good luck.

And I look up 

and he’s grinning and scratching his head,

happy and embarrassed and full of hope,

and after everything he’s been through

still so innocent,

which you don’t really think of with junkies.

And me knowing the odds are stacked

way, way against him,

that the walls will close in

or the DSS will forget to treat him

like a human being,

and wanting to give him a huge great hug

and tell him Steve, I am so fucking proud of

you

So he might remember

when the time comes.

 

And him unscrewing the martini,

levering the lid off the can of glue. 

The moment gone.

 

And me going back down in the lift,

out to the dogshit and the broken glass,

hoping against hope he has a chance.

Him gazing out the window over Leeds,

watching the lights dance.