That old leather jacket

Georgie Hoffman

 

That day we walked through hazy blue gardens, remember?
The trees were hung with ribbons and little golden hearts
and there were flowers everywhere, even though some of them were fake.
I wore new shoes and you were wearing an old leather
jacket that smelled a bit like her.
We walked to that bar where we got drunk

last year, like we’ll get drunk
tonight because last time we did you kissed me, remember?
That was before you had met her.
Before you both broke my heart.
It was that bar that’s mostly velvet lampshades and huge leather
sofas and the bartender with fake

eyelashes, hoop earring and long fake
nails who deals with the drunks
so well. It was warm in the bar so you took off your leather
jacket and told me to remember
to remind you not to forget it. Heart-
ache swelled with the music as I tried to forget about her.

God I wish you’d forget her.
I wish you’d see how fake
she seems to me through the eyes of my broken heart.
Radiant dreams of you swirled with every drink that was drunk
and when I blinked I started to remember
the last time we sat on these huge leather

sofas. You wore that old leather
jacket that, at the time, didn’t smell anything like her.
I wonder if she told you not to remember
kissing me that night. I wonder if your forgetfulness is fake
or if it was simply because of how much we’d drunk.
I know it’s probably the last one that’s true because she really isn’t that heart-

less. She doesn’t know she broke my heart
with yours. She doesn’t know that your leather
jacket smells even more like her when I’m drunk.
But I know you probably love her.
I know you too well to think you could fake
something like this. I must remember

to tell her to take care of your heart.
To sit with you on leather sofas and order from bartenders with fake
nails. To get drunk with you and kiss you. I’ll remind you to remember.

Illustration by Georgie Hoffman

Illustration by Georgie Hoffman


Georgie Hoffman is a student of English and American Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Kent. After a year abroad at Mount Holyoke College in Western Massachusetts, she will begin her final year at Kent in September. She is half English and half American and lives in south east London. Ideas for poems often come from things she has seen or heard people saying when walking around the city.