Saying your name makes me think of Turnpike Lane-
the shops with four foot high
screaming scarlet fascias
that hailed discounts to sallow eyes
even though every head was low.
The walk to Pizza Hut in Wood Green
within, the happy chink-chink of stacked plates
that glided across each other
sheathed in a garlic butter glaze.
The day you openly kissed my chin
to the disgust of helpless onlookers
I pulled you into me and your back clicked
like a roulette ball coming to rest.
I never have been back to that part
pixelated faces in the memories
still wander around my head, but
saying your name will always
make me think of Turnpike Lane.
