Ghosted

Death seems to be very much on my mind at the moment. It’s probably because it’s been a terrible couple of years for losing friends. This is about a friend who died a couple of years ago after multiple rounds treatment for breast cancer. We lost touch for 30 years and our reunion was bittersweet as she told me of her illness amid the joy of meeting again. We slipped back into friendship instantly, with no awkwardness, just instant bitching and hilarity, like 30 minutes had passed rather than 30 years.

I miss the old tart!

Ghosted

You can't answer calls
my letters remain unread
I couldn't share that memory
that only you understand.
I would knock at your door

just to see that glorious face 
crack wide with the filthiest 
grin and we would giggle like 
witches over that time we grew 
a 'sheep' and ate jeera crusted 

steaks from its colossal fruiting 
body. And our table at the Hallamshire
 - and woe betide anyone that tried 
to wrest it from us - is empty. That 
corner where we smirked and judged 

and bitched, thinking we were better 
than the lager and black crew, because 
we shared a bottle of So Ah Vay, 
a habit learned from Mr Kite's
is now overlit by neon pineapples, 

bleaching the goth shadows 
we cultivated with too much kohl
and elnette and ego. Immortal 
in our arrogance. Until we weren't. 
Until you weren't. Until the bell
 
you rang lied. Until that last face
book message 'How are you feeling 
today, you dozy tart?' went unanswered 
and I longed for a 'like shit, you 
fat queen,' in response. I see

those words hanging 
with no mouth 
to speak them 
- a silent phantom.
Ghosted.