Just a cheeky one before the weekend
then all of a sudden it’s half past ten.
The office bike’s eyeing a cycling
and warring rivals are trading grins.
Out come the shots after sugary shots
before a frantic march to new bars.
Scrambles for entrance and coat fees
precede disco balls, tears and scars.
Sleepy mornings the following day
see sketchy shuffles to McDonalds.
Patchy memories of hands astray
line remorse ridden thought tunnels.
Pleas to not share the awful photos
meet chuckles, cringes and sighs.
Efforts to stay dry are announced
but calendar planners suggest a lie.
Tag: The Pickle Jar
Norbert Eating Marshmellows In A Trilby
Sit on a teacake seat and have a cycle
with these Jammie Dodger wheels
along the canal of liquid bronze Irn Bru
beside hundreds and thousands fields.
Put a Soda Stream in your step
and have a fizzy Love Hearts day.
Take a nibble on a chocolate digestive.
They’re laid out on a liquorice tray.
Pass the go-carts made of chocolate.
Drink the rain for its sherbet tint.
Sail a boat that’s made of wafer
and dip your feet in ponds of mint.
Hang up your coat of Quavers
on a bonbon bridge’s Curly Wurly tree.
The most rushing imaginations
live in our heads. Just look and see.