I detest happy men gleaming over barbers’ chairs,
‘Going anywhere nice for your holidays this year?’
I feel like telling them to fuck right off.
Or obsequious shits in shoe shops,
‘You’ll look a treat in those sir,
especially with a young lady on your arm.’
I have to stop myself putting the nut in.
What are they all so jovial about?
We’re all going to be stretched out in a church yard
or flash griddled through the tunnel of eternal happiness,
and death’s getting closer each day for all of us.
Image by Michael Day.