We are a pair of detectives
tailing someone down
the rough road of Dog Lane.
Your coffee is gaddamn rocket fuel
and my moustache is covered
in the dust of salt and vinegar Pringles.
My knuckles are white,
your nose is the crow flying.
I can’t stop squinting,
the sun is just the wrong height
bouncing off the windscreen;
your sunglasses resist the I told you so.
I don’t know how we got here
and I will never, ever question it.
© Carl Burkitt 2021