He shuffled from the rain,
old belches drizzled
down his beard, hair curled
like dead worms
in his ears. A gristled hand
forced in mine, two blue
headlights, a cough. “Rog”,
he grunts, “You remember.”.
Peering down at pale
skin sucked red by thirsty
bones, I almost didn’t –
the nose, though, still as
comically sharp as
when I wore short trousers
and Doctor Who founded
every bedroom game, gave
him away. I gasped - “Reg!”.
He nodded, shook my hand
like a sauce-bottle, pulled
me closer than his smell –
“I’ve been invisible
for twenty-one years…” he
said, a white blade now drawn
from his side. “You never
thought about me once.” The
steel burned like search-lights
through my intestines, cold
as night. I blinked to find a
small child sat with me on
a vinyl rug. “Let’s
pretend that we’re in the
TARDIS”, he said, and smiled.