Alchemisland

Glum.

My back a rank tissue of old attacks, latticelike,

Mail-hard, any traitor’s glaive fails against my breakspear flank.

In the first place I made for a rum Shakespeare, anyway;

Only came to drum up interest in my admittedly funless play

but I haven’t opened my mouth since saying hey.

Awaiting opportunities to interject which never manifest

Pity, had whole riffs on recent weather, our bevvy of sunless days.

I’ve been down in the dumps since she dumped me, the other day.

We were a bus, formerly the 46A, heading townward along Appian Way.

She said that, once, she had been happy, in a way,

Used love the way I japed, loved my jade teeth’s gappy placements,

But after a three year unpaid work placement as my amorous dalliancer

She tells me that jumping naked, in flames,

Out a skyscraper’s top casement

Is preferable to another evening spent in my miserable company.

Ask and get answers. Taken to task.

I thought it sufficient that any material good was profferable, only ask.

Provided I remained profitable I thought she would stay hospitable.

Can’t decide whether it’s a restaurant or a bar, Darky Starving’s.

Dining’s a la carte, signs advertising old timey Michelin Stars,

But the chequerboard floors are grimy and they’re blaring untimely grime,

And it’s 9 for 3 Fosters pints at the bar.