• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 10

We Stack Up Reasons

My brother-in-law hit a deer
down a country lane, writing off
the car I was going to inherit.

My siblings were born
years before me
clutching a taxi driver’s license.

I could walk across roads
to knock down unexpected pins
with bowling balls, watch cars explode
in cinemas, down slices of pizza
like weak beer.

My body lived seconds
away from the boys who taught me
how to fight on a computer game,
hit each other off fake motorbikes.

The number 1 bus took me to girls
who invented music,
wore lip balm I was allergic to
and said I was the perfect passenger.

I learned how to read by the beach,
got paid to invent lies in the Underground,
raised a train-spotter next to the station.


We Stack Up Reasons

We stack up reasons why I don’t drive
like a pile of homemade orders of service
at the funeral of a 16-year-old.