Molly Gone

Don’t be like that!
Go on, say something.
You said enough last night:
wasn’t my fault, the fight
with the landlord. You called
him a whey-faced gouger.
Just ‘cause we’d no money left
for another whisky.
Let us sleep on the premises
just last Sunday.
Your fault we’re waking up
in this skip, with potato peelings
for a mattress.
Molly,
Molly?
Wake up!