Imaginary Friend

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.