Your smudgy eyeliner, Argos earrings, and
Supermarket scrunchies, tying back
Can't-be-arsed, home-dyed hair;
Your unmade bed, and telly and video,
Too silly-stickered and old for downstairs;
And school jotters, scrawled with jibes or love,
Homework "lost", schoolbooks "forgotten";
Your mobile, party-arranging, clip-swapping;
And the dresser, with smears of make-up,
Wafts of Xmas-given perfumes,
To snare the man who'll come to rescue you.
Oh Kayleigh. Sometimes I want to help you,
But you'd laugh at me and kick me in the nuts.
