fifteen

Low slung Gibson,
you never saw my face 
       bowed forward
       mask of hair.

We didn’t need to talk to communicate;
still don’t.

My tits were smaller then -
does rocking out make them grow?
I was seventeen.
Maybe growing up makes them grow.

I didn’t wear makeup and
my clothes didn’t fit.
       short dresses.
       bad dresses.
       good legs.

We were perfect;
still are.

Out of focus / in sync
our friends were always there and
they were always excited, we excited them.
Some of the faces are the same and some have changed but not ours.
Some have stayed for the ride and some have slipped away,
but we knew them
and they knew us
and that’s enough.

I remember perfectly
every pavement I’ve laid on pissed out of my mind
every carpet
every venue we’ve been the last to leave.
Every filthy dressing room
and the occasional nice one, very occasional.

Every perfect pack
and every argument about you being late 
that fades away when we use our sound.

Every car doing it's best
and every journey;
every game of Trivial Pursuit.

The mountain passes
border guards
narrow escapes
lost passports
getting robbed
making friends
being taken advantage of - 

it’s all in my DNA.