Leather Veronica by Gareth Spark

This icon brings back that bath-warm night
In the yard of a Silver Street restaurant
Where, drunk, you tipped the Maltese waiter
With a washed out ten pound note;
Brings back that space,
Where the Catalan sand scratched up
Our star-tanned feet as we watched
the fat sun spill over indigo hills
towards waves that were dark as ink;
That day you stained my leather jacket’s breast
With Boots’ foundation as we posed
For a photograph that would prove too pale
against an oily, gothic wall.

The jacket still bears a heart-shaped mark,
That is the exact hue of your skin, memento
Of your Celtic pallor, your daisy petal cool.

Veronica held her stained cloth
With a hope that I have never held
For my dirty leather coat

that promises no day of glory, no return
of these things from time.

Gareth Spark

Gareth Spark is from Whitby, Yorkshire. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in Shotgun Honey, Line Zero, Out of the Gutter, NAP, Poetry Bus and Deepwater Literary Review, among others. He reviews poetry online for Fjords Review, among others.


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