I don’t enjoy spending time with him. He’s too simple.

I spend hours in the pub
listening to strangers talking to each other
picturing sitting on their sofa
drinking the cheapest beer from ASDA,
chewing on oven-cooked cheese pizzas
(because it’s the quickest thing to do)
while asking where they got their cutlery from,
pointing out the number of condiments
stacked in their fridge door and nodding
at the photo on the wall of a mate
we both miss with all our bones
and then one of them says a sentence
and I’m back in the pub remembering
it’s best to be on your own sometimes.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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