Every. Other. Week.

No alarm needed, clock-watching since 6
Buzz in the belly, tea and a Twix
Three S’s, patching-up that shaving cut
Pinch of toilet roll applied, bedroom door shut
She’ll go mad if he wakes her, it’s her ‘only lie-in’
And my God, if he does, he’s in for a chin
Outfit was chosen midway through the week
A Creu number, YMC cords, bank balance bleak

Local caff’s calling, “Bread and butter or toast?”
A read of the ‘paper, the local dealer boasts
“Moncler trackie bro, avin it or wha?”
Tag along makes waitress panic, the tea, he forgot

Not a minute wasted, head down to the boozer
Straight on the Nelsons, day couldn’t be going smoother
Old and new mates, tales told good and bad
Fruitie making a killing out of one poor lad
The early kick-off ruins yet another acca
Last minute goal a bitter blow, start of his disaster

Stumble to the ground, miss the first goal
Bored after the first twenty, so it’s a beer and a scroll
To see if anyone’s in town and playing tonight
Would he even make the gig? More chance of a fight

He was meant to be meeting the wife for some dinner
That’s all out the window, her patience wears thinner
He begs and promises, it won’t happen again
He’s older, wiser and a job to attain
But his routine’s embedded, it’s the thrill he’ll always seek
And they both know it’s coming…

Every. Other. Week.

by Working Class Poet