The found couple sat on a bench, holding
hands. It was a July English estuary seafront

and they were amongst screeching children,
feral dogs and the smell of fresh doughnuts.

Old now and rugged up against the wind
they resembled a monument. Both were scared

of talking in case of being misunderstood.
A falsetto seagull swooped, hunting for chips.

And then this happened.

I’m sorry Terry. It was the mistake of my life.

Did you love him, Julie? Did you?

No. Just his money and his dreams.
Not the way he made me scream. 
I never knew where I stood.
Beaten black with a block of wood.
The endless drunken verbal insults.
The bets in the bookies on half time results.
You were always going to be my final score.
You were always going to be my Bobby Moore.
Do you coat up, Terry, it’s getting chilly.
Let me help you. Love. I was silly.

That’s poetic. Thank you, puffin.

Puffin!  You remember that? I like poetry.

 I do remember. You used to call me your pudding.

We were in love.

Years go by.

Yes, they do. 

They walked to the pickup point. Orphans
to the storm of today, tomorrow and the tomorrow

after that. It had started to rain, they hunched
without fear against each other in the pitter patter.

Here comes my carer, Terry.

Oh.

It’s been lovely seeing you after all these years. 

I still need you, puffin.

Don’t cry, Terry. We are dying now.
We shouldn’t be like this. Such a fuss.

Please can I come with you, Julie, my love?
I've nothing left. Just change for the bus.

We are memories. That’s all.

Please!

Julie gazed up at the moving sky.
She was still young enough to learn to try.

Oh, come on then. You big pudding!

And then the sun came out.