I swallowed my rum and pineapple
(fizzy drinks give me chronic gas)
whilst surrounded by jaded porn star lookalikes.
I sipped my straw
(it limits the amount of sugar hitting your teeth)
and a muscly man barged in to me.
“I found love in a hopeless place” played over the speakers
(at a volume that slightly hurt my ears)
whilst the DJ flicked my girlfriend a wink.
“Happy birthday!” cheered the gang
(people who weren’t in the gang also cheered “happy birthday”)
as I wrote this poem in my iPhone notes.
© Carl Burkitt 2013