The piss-head on my train sits down and laughs
And tries to catch my ear with hissed advice
“A few are country pubs on summer days:
Beer gardens made from glue and you’ll get stuck
In there for good. But others tickle you,
Like feathers do, before they fly away,”
I have no idea what to say, so I
Ignore his words for alcoballyhoo.
“Some other girls are West End musicals,”
He gets me looking up at him at last
“You wouldn’t say you had a bad time, but
You know you’ll never want to go there twice.”
He clunks the bottle hard against his tooth,
Gets off around Kings Cross and takes the tube.
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