Imaginary Friend
She’d always join me in the bath, though
water was on ration, time spent in it
was not. We’d stay there till our fingers
withered, comparing and delighting at
how similarly we shrivelled. I did all
the talking, she listened. When I moved
she did, together we made waves against
the porcelain shine – a 2-girl synchronised
swimming act, a pair of Esther Williams,
twin mermaids, fishtailed-identical.
Where did you go, my water baby bestie?
I could have done with you at swimming
lessons, doggy-paddling beside me,
breast-stroking in a matching rubber ring.
You’d have listened to my cough and splutter,
shared the taste of chlorine; put your lips
beneath the turquoise surface, joined me
in the rude noise of a bubble-blowing duet.