Just a little bit of cafe indulgence.

Just a little bit of cafe indulgence.

He was a grown man

And wore a baseball cap

Back to front

On an overcast day in England,

What is that about.

He carried a tray

Filled with pastries

And cheesy toasties

To an overloaded table

Where a woman sat

Sporting a high viz tan

From out of a can.

She had a blond thatch

With a growth of

Dark roots to match

The true blue, Chelsea tattoo

And the bruise under

The eye,

From the accident

Of the night before

At closing time.

He needed to keep

Her in line

But she had

Caught the back of his hand,

Too full,

Flush on the chin

And tripped over a garbage bin.

So he picked her up

And threw her in.

He thought she was out

On the pull

When he caught her.

Out with her daughter,

From a previous relationship.

He just meant it to be

A little clip.

But broke her nose

And busted a lip.

It was her fault though

Not his.

After all she was supposed

To be at home

Making his tea,

Not in a club, drinking bucks fizz.

‘...It is a women’s place...’

He said with a straight face,

‘...That is where you should be.’

But that was last night

And today

Is for signing on

And shopping for essentials.

A few cans

And some basic fundamentals,

Like chicken nuggets,

Oven chips

And clementines.

Not tangerines

As he dislikes pips,

And a stop for lunch

In the cafe,

As he tries to make up

For his stupid gaff.

He will be more careful

Next time.

After all he is the boss.

But if she wants to

Blow him off

That will be her loss.

He could really show

Her

If he wanted too.

But then,

Who would cook tea,

Wash his tracky and trainers

And clean out the loo.