Cry, old woman
When you can’t remember those island streets
Your beer stained
Nakedness is yelling things you kept buried
You were sober.
Husband number two
And you fit him like a glove
A secondhand glove makes your hands
And you’re no exception.
You fit him well though and it’s too late
In the game.
Ride that pony hard
Throw it down in one go because
That’s all they’ll give you.
He’s dead now.
He drank himself to death but they won’t let you
With a goddamn pony.
Five imperial fluid ounces of beer
Never killed anyone.
Under the bridge with your
A glove to all and sundry and you’re having
Breathing problems when they find you.
There’s a bruise.
Kicking and screaming
You’re dragged back to the home
Your new boyfriend doesn’t even put up
Fuck you to the staff that feed you
A middle finger to see them out.
No one visits you anymore,
Because you called them all cunts.
Those buyers of ponies and issuers of cancellation orders
For well planned death wishes.
You’re up shit creek now
Waiting for time,
Taking his time
And no one has ever choked to death on green pea mush before
You’re willing to give it a go.