Picture This

Hairs stand as
Forced marched
While over used
Eyes sting like
Chillies on a
Wet cotton flannel.

Change that bloody
Almost sepia in
Its drab colour
Reminders of
Missing girls
Put to bed in
Lonesome ditches.

You were young
Pretty and tipsy turvy
On Babycham and Cherry B
We know all this
Misplaced youth at
Fag burnt formica tables
Boyfriends high on
Brown ale and Hai Karate.

Now you’re older
Wiser and loveliest
Of frizzy haired
Serial wanderers
Saturday club nights
With Freemans and
Littlewoods watching
Family allowances drip
Drip drip into deep
Silk lined
Saville Row pockets.

Sit there, I’ll take a picture
8 megapixels of
Beautiful you.