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