I gave her chances
Plenty of chances
Chances to act and walk and talk and breathe
And treat and wound the way she
Should.
We had our chance, and we blew it through a paper straw,
Watched it blow away like litter in the wind.
Shoulders hunched, spine aching,
Back breaking with the weight of the world.
I am in her arms, her head lies dormant on my chest
Simply a breath away from the press of my lips
To skin.
I had the chance. Ducked out. 
Walked in.
Today I saw her eyes shine in the morning light,
As we scuffed our brazenly polished school shoes on the frosted pavement,
Trudging past the maple tree, in the frozen mud to school.
Up the track, round the back, ring the bell.
There's a chance for something new now.
Corridors.
Corridors and textbooks.
Corridors and textbooks and sandwiches.
Corridors and textbooks and sandwiches and mobile data and whiteboard markers and highlighters and A3 worksheets and brown chairs.
This is our playground,
Built with letters and numbers, and here was where she had her first and last chance.
Her opportunity to come round to my house, and her opportunity to come round and see sense.
Only once did she give in.
Sometimes I remember the way it ended, the way the curtains fell to the floor in a dusty heap,
And there was a rusty creak,
When the lights blinked out,
And I was left away from her, alone, in the dark.
I've given up excusing, but I'm also not one to blame
Or hold a grudge longer than my arm.
I may have given her chance upon chance,
But when the wild winds harbour change, 
I can't bring it in myself,
To chance it again.