His belt buckle was too polished.
He ate Hob Nobs with two hands
and only put hotels on Mayfair.
He drank whiskey in the dark,
rolled towels instead of folding them,
carried tooth picks in a metal case.
He liked to say things like, No bother
and sit on his sofa pretending his skin
was a onesie with a broken zip.
He ate treacle tart for breakfast,
kept his old pager in a shoe box
and read the newspaper every Sunday
just in case he saw himself
in a life he could live.
© Carl Burkitt 2021