Three was always tricky in friendship
unless you quietly assented to join
but remain on the edge.
Granted the favour of being second choice
if first choice wouldn’t play.
Learning to swallow the sorrow of being there
but not essential—
I’m Rosena, she’s Rosana, you’re just Rosie!
Sniggers

In the mornings,
sat between another two as we are
driven to school by someone’s mum.
Supposed friends
as you silently pinch my thighs
in turn
and I can say nothing
as hot tears well.

What use a three?
Be alone or find a one.

Look, here’s one at last.
A sister.

And now, at last, I am done
with three. 
Two is much, much better.