Tell me, Rachel, tell me do!
Why you write the way you do?
In pen, you mean,
on lined A4:
sprawled amid bottles
on the floor?
Oh no, Rachel, dear me no!
I mean eyes tight shut and nose aglow,
with a vicious stab
and a porcine grunt
in a ratty,tatty notebook
with Elvis on the front.
I write, Rachel, how I write.
In outpourings of unmitigated shite,
fuelled by rum
and peppermint
and the stuff from the
cupboard under the sink.
