Damp

by Romina Ramos

The phone box smelt of damp
and it reminded me of you
and the rain seeping through

reminded me of the leak in
your old shed, that leaked on
our heads, and of late nights

sat there with torches and cigarettes
in those broken laundry baskets
waiting for the clothes to dry.

They were always still a little damp
and that smell on your hoodies
became a security blanket.

I came here to call, to say that
I miss you, but I ran out of coins
and the receiver is missing.

By Romina Writes

She/Her Made In Portugal Based in Manchester, UK Bilingual BA Creative Writing @ UoB Poet/Fiction Writer/Freelance Editor Sub-editor for The Bolton Review issues 7 & 8. 'Half Moon' selected for The New Writing Showcase 2019. ‘Trouble’ and ‘If I Knew Then What I Know Now’ selected for The New Writing Showcase 2020.

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