The Dreams of the Middle-Class Poser Vs. The Reality of Cool Punk

When you jumped, cloaked upon the stage
froth flying from your flapping jaw
excitedly enticing us to observe you explore
hedonism and art!

Your arm outstretched clutching at the air
seeming to pull passion from it
like you were a great theatrical actor, playing the Dane
and had forgotten your skull.

Though what poor Yorik meant to you
did not matter as much as what
you had to say about him made you look
to all the half-fucked faces sat,
gleefully awaiting your exploration
of the intricacies
in the relationship between
life and art
and how they mingle to create
wow and man

and after getting drunk on yourself
and two pints of beer
you crawled off to the bogs to sleep
in a pool of your own
pish and puke

while a cool young punk
rips up the posters
and kicks the PA
you’ve spent all your pocket money on
then screams “fuck this place!”
in the bar managers face
when he tells him to stop it.

Then he storms off to the bogs
to find you lying on the floor
muttering to yourself
that it’s not fair
hedonism was supposed to be such a civilised affair.

Then the cool young punk
dislodges all 32 of your adult teeth
with one swing of his shiny steel toe-capped DM boot
and celebrates the end to an excellent night out
by thinking about how life mingles with art
to create hedonism,

while his pish mingles
with your pish
on your back
and in your hair
and trickles down
onto the floor
and creates
a puddle
deeper
than any thought
you’ve ever had
in your entire life.