Some felon’s sunk my sovereign sun inside his cloudy keks
and given me the slip. Today is doctor’s waiting rooms
and dog shit on the dance floor. Today my heartache clings
to me like burs, and everyone’s an anti-vaxxer, a queue of cars
behind a tractor. O, today I’m thatch, and Twitter is a tinderbox;
the slightest thing might set me off and I could take you all
down with me hissing. I’m arguing about Brexit on Reddit
and the lines I bellowed beaming from my handlebars just
yesterday are Brasso on my tongue. It isn’t that it’s raining yet,
it’s knowing rain will come.