Nicotine

Lets play at not leaving;
sit outside with flies at our eyes.

Lets eat red cabbage with mayonaise
smoke whole packets of Old Holbourn,
offer up bad habits to a god of everyday accusations.

We write weak verse
hang out wet socks
frighten off grass snakes with laughing.

Your new flat is waiting with a broken doorbell,
the sofa wants to know your weight.

There is not a sting to this
just grey trains drawing carbon crisis'
up and down the country.

The sea shy hairs in my lungs
are lucky,
they hope for nothing but nicotine.