Three Poachers and a Poet in a Sequin Beret

How do conversations like this start?
In five-minutes-for-the-haddock queues?
Paved Victorian waiting rooms?
A Midland Mainline delay?

So that you can imagine it -
the poet's sequined-beret was silver.
Her necklace - diamante
and lighter than expected.

These three men from Lilleshall,
tore the unidentifiable flesh with their teeth,
were indiscreet, in full khaki-green,
beside the over-lit counter

of The Cod Father chip shop.
They - hunched over their food,
She - returning from an erotic poetry reading,
unaware of what she was wearing.

Both - thinking each was stranger,
than the other. But still offering
to clear the Muntjac for her
and lug them back to her freezer.