Thursday, 6 May 2010

When Chip met Bean

Let's spend our time,

Talking jibberish til the early hours,

My dreams of clipboards and ice-skating,

Will keep your tights up at 7am,

Cast me a lunchtime phonecall,

Obliterated by roadworks and the background sound of high heels overtaking,

Still, it's good to hear you panting,

As you frantically search,

For a sandwich,

At Waitrose,

I think of your mouth,

How it tastes,

Evaporated milk, lavender ice-cream, fruit smoothies, belch,

Click, lift left leg, click, lift right,

You crack like a branch,

Rotate hips like a cyborg,

In me, you have left an impression,


Of middle-class teenagers,

Papa Lazarou,

Staffordshire accents,

You really should tour,

But what I like best,

Is how you accept me,

Always have,

You're the calming seas,

We bob along,

We sail together,

Instead of alone,

Feeding the fishes,

Except I hate fish,

I let you eat tuna,

Before tuna eats me,

You like to leave your mark,

A synthetic bag or two,

Abandoned in the lounge,

Filled with one book, a hairband, bank statement, satsuma,

You like things in jars,

To have their place,

I too am now filled with horror,

If I see a thing without a jar,

Where's its jar?

Quick! Get a jar!

It must have a jar!

I don't know how I coped without jars before,

When I say jars I mean you,

Without your scrambled eggs and cheese,

Without odd socks,

Without Strawb,

I look forward to dinners on garden furniture,

To window-sill vegetable patches,

To a scrappy dog,

With a neckscarf,

Called Keith,

Evenings of crap freeview,

Biscuit tin,

Finally renting 24, Series 2.

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