You wait in the carpark, with the wind sweeping newspapers

and plastic bags around the worn down tyres of your car

and your eyes averted to the shadows in the sky as I approach

so you won't watch me scrape my feet along the concrete and

adjust my uniform in an attempt to distract myself from the thought of you.

There's always that moment of uncertainty as I open the passenger door

and wonder which act we're playing today, whether to kiss you on the lips

or on the cheek or

not at all.