Harv hovers at the launderette.
He chews another Nicorette while
Eyeing his companion’s jacket
For the outline cardboard packet.
Folds his trackies. Craves his baccy.
Folds his hoodies. Cadges Woodies
From his dad with beery nose
Who’s folding his still-dirty clothes.
‘Hey, pop,’ Harv says, ‘These aint been washed’.
But drunk dad keeps on folding socks.
So Harv goes out and lights his fag.
Then shakes his head, picks up his bag.
‘I’ll see you later, pop,’ he says.
Leaves dad to fold and put away.
Lesley Atherton, 2021