They can't send Luca back to Africa, that nurse has to drop her ..................guard and make him stay. Sorry, little ER rant there. I am not a telly addict, I am not.........

Well, I have new eyedrops now, three times a day, steroids, plus the once an hour liquid tears and the sticky ointment every night at bedtime. Bored of it noooooooowwwwww!!


ONE YEAR ON

Faceless people pass me on the street.
I stare ahead and focus on my feet.
Check my bag; purse, comb and phone,
cigarettes and lighter, a ticket home.
French kids swarming round about,
excited, noisy: teacher has to shout.
The loud chattering, shrill in my head,
they push past me, wish I'd stayed in bed.
Whose idea was this anyway to take
the day off, visit the city, for heaven's sake!
Oh, mine. Seemed like quite a good idea
but now I'm shaking. I've got the fear.
Not really sure what I am doing here.
Thought I was better, now I feel queer.
Stumble into a side street cafe.
Sit down, order , but new dismay.
He is sitting there in the corner seat.
Now my bad day is just about complete.
One year on and still he has the knack
of bringing the pain and love right back.
I wanted it buried deep down inside,
for days then weeks then months I tried
to forget that I ever saw his face
and let him touch me in my deepest place.
One year: I thought the hurt was sealed
but scars are still there to be revealed
in their angry, bitter lines, still livid.
The pleadings and recriminations still vivid.
I get out of the coffee bar, don't know how.
I'm standing on the platform crying now.
One year on and he still has the power.
Just one look, one turn of face, one glower.
Enough to know that I can never return.
His eyes tell me if I speak he will spurn
my overtures of friendship, familiarity.
Am I destined to be denied for eternity?