The Thirsty Scholar

He kept leaning against me, 

as if he’d not yet learnt 

to sit up straight. 

It was loud 

and his face, pointed away

muffled the words

thrown across the bench.

His leg was now 

touching mine

under the wooden canopy.

I focussed back on 

my friends mouth

opposite me

lips like geraniums.

‘You’re not listening’, she digs.

‘Sorry, I…’

‘What?’

‘There’s something 

uncomfortably attractive about him’