Inner City Undergraduate Romance 

 Fresh faced, over eager, 
 Away from  home they met at 18.
  
 ( EVERY TRAIN BEGINS SOMEWHERE 
 AND KNOWS WHERE THEY ARE GOING)  
  
 The meetings and greetings  
 On platforms were all part of the fun. 
 Him gazing  up at ARRIVALS 
 Her creeping up behind him. 
 It didn’t matter they’d travelled  
 From opposite directions.  
 They were in  love at Manchester Piccadilly. 
  
 They celebrated  their second anniversary 
 On Birmingham New Street -
 Agreed it made a change  
 From the  too reliable 
 Cup of morning tea in bed.
 She had secret  longings for a weekend away 
 And  alone.  
  
 ( LIKE JUNCTIONS WHERE PARALLELS PLAIT 
 THEY GOT CONFUSED) 
  
 Seeking  reassurance he said
 Were the same now,
 We can  finish each other's sentences. 
 Being contrary she answered 
 Education doesn’t make me middle class.  
 He knew  what was coming
 Stop changing my routes.
  
 (INEVITABLY  THEIR TRACKS SPLIT
 NEVER REACH THE POINT WHERE PARALLELS MEET.) 
  
 By twenty two she was  halfway to Bristol Parkway 
 He headed east  and  got stuck some place trans-pennine.
  
  
    
 Warm Milk On Hot Days 
  
 Today I have to stay indoors 
 watching T.V. with a woman who thinks 
 every player at Wimbledon
 Is John McEnroe
 I stomach a warm milky drink
 On a hot afternoon when I want to sunbathe. 
  
 You loved this when you were little.
  
 I can’t take my eyes off her:
 The forearm that shakes
 As she lifts the empty pan.
  
 You thought you were so grown up
 I could not take my eyes off you
 When you were near the stove.
 We never burned a pan between us. 
  
 She lights the gas, forgets the milk.
  
 You’d count the bubbles as they rose
  
 She searches for biscuits
 Milk hisses as I pour 
 Into the hot pan we’ve still never burned.
  
 Showing off that you could count.
  
 This woman made me feel 
 Like a goddess when I was seven.
 I watch the bubbles rise in the pan. 
  
 You used to think it was magic.

 
 Lower Manhattan Hospital 
  
 There was the promise of painkillers
 I was in New York and pregnant 
 Sonya was in labour, Red faced.
 Being monitored.
 So was Sonya who I have not seen for years 
 And a stranger. 
  
 There was the promise of all sorts of painkillers
 Red faced, being monitored timing her contractions, comforting her.. 
  
 I am with Alex and Kim -
 my friends who brought me to New York 
 They are looking after someone else.
 I shrug, 
  
 A nurse tells me 
 I haven't even started yet,  
 "Nurse, I think I have had a twinge really"
 I insist. "Just one.”
  
 I look down. 
 Underneath my oversized t shirt 
 Whatever bump is there 
 Is a ghost.
  
   

Rachel Cunniffe is based in the North East of  England and has  written a  wide range of  poetry  since being a teenager, has a MA in Writing Studies gained in 1995 from Edgehill University College. Real jobs stifled her creativity for 16 years  and she has  recently  been able to partially retire and spend more time writing again. She has been a member  of several creative  writing groups  one of which  has  been in existence since 1991. She read regularly at the now sadly no more Callender Poetry Festival in September during that time for about 9 years.She lives with a large black dog and two cats.