Page 142 of The Black Flamingo

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the assumption

people make that I’m a drug dealer

might not be about

a hairstyle, it could just be

because I’m black.

We walk in silence for a while

but the seagulls

are still talking.

“You don’t smoke weed,

do you, Michael?” asks Mum.

“No, Mummy. Not really.”

“What does ‘not really’ mean?”

“It means I don’t buy it

and I certainly don’t sell it,

but if I’m offered by a friend,

I might have some.”

“You’re here to study,

Michael, not to do drugs.”

After we’ve eaten,

we go to the arcade on the pier.

Anna and I

compete on the dance battle machine

and then the air hockey table.

Then the three of us

take a ride on the roller coaster

at the end of the pier:

Anna and me in a seat together,

and Mum behind.

I feel the chilling

sea breeze on my newly exposed

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