Twins
Angelica, she said, what’s yours?
her sister
was gorgeous
with a skirt split that
arrowed the way
to the not yet promised land
they tailed me around the churning club
sucking my
money from jangling pockets
like students scraping
the crumb spotted bottom
of a margarine tub
criss, cross, criss, cross, criss,
back and forth
give us a fag
get us a drink
future sex paid by instalments
when the cash would spread
no further
they were gone and I was toast
weaving home alone
down vomitburst pavements
this single life
I can’t believe it’s not better
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