Permanent Marker

The spine of the book gave a desperate crack,

the weight of the seniors all hunched on their back.

I was looking for something, a face I had known,

before all the seeds of this failure were sown.

You wrote it in blue, right across my own chest,

a jagged little curse masquerading as 'best'.

'Good luck,' you had scrawled, 'you’ll be needing it too,'

as if you could see what I’d eventually do.

The ink is a smear where I touched it too fast,

a stain from a thumb that belongs in the past.

It’s still there, the warning, the sharp little bite,

staring me down in the late-afternoon light.