Mister open top Costa coffee cup
Swallows a slurp and coughs it back up,
Definitely worth flagging up, even if
The cardboard cup is about to give up,
It might not be much – and it isn’t tough –
But there’s nothing new in slurping without burping.
I wonder if his arm is hurting
Pressed up against the glass
Mashed up against silica with sass
All smushed up like old mash.
No measles there, the glass shows no rash,
Maybe I was rash or maybe I was rushing
When I started rubbing crayons over the bark
Watching the A4 paper darken
As though I’m colouring in my eyes,
Let the dams burst
It’s a technicolour cry.
Screw this guy for loosing this tide,
Can only guess at what he hides inside
Looks like he runs on the side,
Implied by a fidgeting Fitbit on his wrist
Step count at risk if continues to sit
All curled up as if taking a kip,
Spirals his spine to a snail shell design
Mr Curly-Wurly, Ouroboros Omanyte,
Burly, surly, all night surely staring at omastars
Glimmers of glitter scratching the
Magnetic strip on midnight’s credit card
Drowned out by the backlit guitar
That vibrates his eardrums
Through tiny plastic conches:
3rd party earbuds manufactured in China,
Call it a guess, call it one of my hunches.