The lighter's the only thing that's clicked today

And it needn't have bothered in any case.

 

If only

The flames had burned like the holes in our stomachs

 

Instead they fizzled out with the sun (and us)

The Queen of Sefton Park deserves more than this,

 

A light breeze taken out of context

That would've served us well on another day

 

But not today. Not when we needed some warmth

To cook up something - anything. Smiles, laughter

 

Maybe a sense of appreciation? 

(I know I've not shown that enough lately)

 

In a bid to save face, I caress your hands

Which wouldn't have looked out of place in the mines 

 

Of 1980's Rotherham. You dug deep

But got nothing for your efforts. Not even

 

A conciliatory pack of wet wipes. 

Speaking of wet, we'd better start heading back.

 

Pour some cold water over it and let's go.

This horse-drawn carriage won't leave itself, you know. 

 

And yes, I'm still writing this fucking poem.

For though they won't break today, the clouds can't break

 

Our love, held together like a paper chain - 

Made of much sturdier stuff than this shit sheet 

 

That disintegrates, leaving nothing behind.

Far more durable than this piece of plastic

 

We bought for five quid.

And as for the cider, well - it's now leaking 

 

Through the carrier bag onto my trainers.

Just another thing to add to the shopping list. 

 

If only

We had chosen to seek some respite indoors

 

If only 

Tesco had just decided not to open.