A PLACE TO STORE SORROW

Make any sense

Alcohol makes my body sick

Sleep

In the bright resplendent day in sight of the dome

Funnelling in all eager with cash to spend

Too soon don’t go to soon

Look take it all in, it’s yours 

You have found society 

Walk freely in the sunshine 

Give the poet a penny

“she’s a feisty one” or “our big day out in London”

What you throw to the winds becomes a cherished artefact

 

Clutched in a hot tight fist

Fleshy legs get their first revealing

Rosy faced and sun burning the tender parts

The Thames doesn’t care, that old predatory snake

Has an eye on the banks, one mistake and it will

Rap its coils around you and take you to its lair

Literal facts and ambiguous narrative forms fall

Short from heroic love against the odds we all battle on

No easy life for us one that’s not worth living

Our best fat friend keeps up

Hips bulging over the lips of too tight jeans

Eager with beer and/or bravado

To make this day the best imaginable or

At least memorable

Tomorrow’s sore heads will decide

And beautiful butterflies on tanned ankles

Will appear from under the morning’s wings.