I remember the soft play areas
when I was a little kid.
Smelling vaguely like sweat and nappies,
strong tea wafting from the parents on the sidelines,
empty Twix wrappers littered on the floor
I would climb through holes,
graze my knees on that twisted rope
and cry when my friends tried to make me go down the Death Slide.
Carpet burn, rubbed red raw, on my hands and thighs,
I'd come out bruised but happy.
I found myself allergic to the fuzzy plastic on toy cars
that made your hair stand on end,
I was coated head to toe in Calamine lotion,
my mum painted whiskers on me so that I looked like a rabbit
and not a child ghost.
I played with imaginary friends
like every child does.
Mine was Harry Potter, although I hadn't read the books
or even watched the films
but everyone liked Harry Potter.
Maybe if I said I was friends with him
People would like me too?
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