1
2
3
4
5
I had hatched a plan to put this mattress to use.
A white paint saviour, I’d give it life, or at least
Extend its current grim one. I spent the best part
Of my commute trying to haul the sodden twat
Up against the fence, stare it mano to mattress,
Finger jabbing at those pursed button things they have:
“ YOU AIN’T DYING ON ME YET, PAL!” The plan after
That was less sure of itself but it needn’t have
Mattered. After thrashing about in a puddle
Like a handsome but nervous black swan, I collapsed,
One arm failing to draw in my obese partner.
I flipped over and we drank in the sky. Passing
Headlights were shooting stars. We laughed, our chests heaved, the
Puddle went about it’s ripple business, and the
Hi-Vis guard in the tram depo opposite quietly vaped.