Something is pulling at my T-shirt.
Something is holding my hand.
I can feel it walking beside me.
It almost trips me up as its steps
cross over with mine. Parked cars
squeeze us against the hedge.
I have to tread carefully
holding my bag out at arms length
so it won’t swing in anyone’s way.
It makes my arm ache.
When I go to the loo, it sits outside patiently
to re-take my hand as soon as it’s free.
It looks miserable when I won’t let go.
I have to prise apart its fingers and try to wave
cheerily, sympathetically, reassuringly
all at the same time.
I’d take it with me if I could.
Pack it in a sling, suckle it on a rubber teat.
But it’s getting too big.
I’m not imagining it.
It needs a name. A shape.
Something to grow into.
Robin Vaughan-Williams (@robinrvw) is a poet, producer, and the author of The Manager. His poems have appeared in places like Anthropocene, Dream Catcher, Under the Radar, and Obsessed with Pipework. He currently works in community arts in West London.