In the busy cafe I finish my giant hangover fry-up

Wipe my mouth and slurp my tea

Then lean thoughtfully to the left

In order to let rip great apocalyptic trumpet blast

Just to show all these brain-dead bastards

That I mean business

But just before the release

My girl hisses: ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’

So I put my sad cheek back down and

Prepare to sulk

My last joy quashed

Denied, retrained

Held in, tamed

For her

And I think:

So this is love