strange time in my life

I rolled a cigarette on the train and put it behind my ear.
A stranger stared at me.
Naturally I thought, ‘what’s so wrong with me
that it’s making him stare?’,
and fingered for my fag.
It was still there.

During those seconds my brain drifted to those times
down in that little alcove
outside the library
where you’d come and kiss me when I was leaving to walk home.
Every time
with the movements of your hands as we’d kiss
you’d knock my freshly prepared cigarette
resting behind my ear
right off
and I wouldn’t care as it fell to the floor,
got trampled on,
was reduced to mush under our feet
as I pushed harder and harder on your hips and thighs and waist and lips.

But now I’m pleased
that a stranger is staring at me,
and I’m rolling through south London on a packed train to Sanderstead
and my cigarette is behind my ear.