your looks

I know what that look means
when the wine flows
when opinions come (some of us still have them, I know it's not fashionable)
when the jokes darken:

your disapproval, your
tut tut tut

I knew what the look meant
when, on my stag night, I knelt
with rolled tenner to inhale
my false sense of well-being at
the holiday inn:

your looking down, your
being better and the
nice one

she wasn't even there then, you
didn't NEED to be who you've become this last
decade and a half.

I remember:
your mushrooms,
hash,
cider,
big fibs I covered for you

you should too