A woman wearing tight black cycling shorts,
a thick, fluffy, bright orange fleece jacket
and brown leather high heeled boots
strutted past my flat eating a mid-morning ice lolly.
She wasn’t licking it. She was biting it.
Each crunch of tooth screamed
All bets are off mate!
Her frozen breakfast was made up of colours
from streets I haven’t been through in weeks.
Her hooped earrings were moons of planets
she’d invented. I bet her living room is fun.
She probably has sofas stuck to the ceiling
like The Twits, but loves it.

© Carl Burkitt 2020