Sell By Date

he’s propelling his kid around

in a posh pushchair as if it’s

a fucking Dyson vacuum cleaner

sporting 230 air watts of suction,

these two need no introduction,

she likes a white wine spritzer

the boy downs pints of Cobra,

drinking until he’s sober,

the talisman of a functioning junky,

the boys got a sweet tooth,

he loves to bite

his sugar-mommy,

twice his senior,

refused

to keep her legs closed,

the boy couldn’t control

his erect torpedo

so now we’ve all got to tiptoe

around the uncontrollable,

screaming,

stamping

‘gangbanging’

garble,

the cult of the newborn

flash Fluoxetine smiles

with a resigned look

of denial on their faces,

they don’t mind

their ears bleeding,

a quick ‘toot’ in the toilet

will kickstart the evening

swimmingly,

the exam results are in

“Bradley’s finally got his degree

in Egyptian Philosophy”

we’ll keep his mortarboard hat

proudly on the mantle,

he understands tinned goods

are stackable until he

finds a job more tangible

to justify his student debt,

I’m willing to bet Bradley

is the smartest supermarket

worker I’ve ever met

he got distinction on all subjects

and now he’s just another reject

flipping produce past its sell by date