Going out for the weekly shop, to the top
Of the road where I drop,
A semi-burnt fag on a discarded paper bag, then some slag,
Standing on the vertex, clothes like Perspex (on account of the rain)
Shouts at my person, the weather worsens, and profane verses
Go around, spliff in hand, where she stands –
A baby and a half drunk bottle of Lambrini, then not exactly a Lamborghini
Comes speeding to a halt. The rain tastes of salt. A big bloke steps out, frowns,
Wifey looks like a drowned… rat. He assumes that, maybe, possibly, unlikely,
I’m giving her grief, but before I speak, old geeze, please, don’t hit me.
Seemingly, he does, flop, I drop. Now, that’s top!

The manager’s out, “what’s all this about? I’m sick of you louts!”
Wifey shouts, armed to the teeth with a toothless freak that can’t yet speak:
A result of a cheap, hectic week where Missus would rather buy jellies
Than johnnies, avoid the Two Ronnies, and go out on the piss. Well, sorry Miss.
She’s in the clear, benefits here, there, don’t fear, the baby’ll grow, so it goes,
And it’ll know all about mummy, daddy, hanky-panky in the corner of a less-than-swanky bar,
Oh yes, he’ll go far.

It’s for the best, that I digress, all I wanted was potatoes and a snack, no back-chat,
No gang attack. He’s probably on smack. I pipe up, on my feet, ask How old are you?
His name’s Stu, he mews, “I’m thirty-two”. Switch, And you?
She’s nineteen, unclean, causing a scene. The fiend. It’s a tragedy.
The manager’s there, scared, is it really fair to stare at the father of her child
With such judgmental a glare?

Of course it is, I’m sorry miss, but you can’t rear your son by flashing your buns,
And getting rude out side a news… agents, whilst your bloke deals drugs to thugs and mugs.
She doesn’t like this, nor does he, it goes down a treat.
I flee.
The happy family, chasing me down the street, manager running after, cries and laughter, threatening to call the fuzz. There’s a buzz of quiet, then a piercing scream
And all eyes turn to the wifey, who seems
To have dropped to her knees, where I guarantee,
the toothless freak, the thing under her feet,
Ceases to shriek.