I gave him a lift
in the ex-police car, water
dripping down my neck
from the hole in the roof
where the blue light used to be.

He was in the International
Marxist Group. We had
vigorous discussions
about the Revolution, how
Women Hold up Half the Sky.

One night staying drunk
at a tutor’s house
I hauled his clothes off
and pulled him into me.
The last time we spoke

the radiator boiled over.
I sold the car for fifty quid
to someone who thought
he could fix it, but I knew better.
The cylinder head was cracked.