They’re slowly and systematically
picking out each other’s flaws
like snipers aiming to kill.
It’s been going on for 25 minutes
and everyone in the pub is laughing.
Their wrinkles have turned red.
Their tongues are nine pints.
They’re sat so closely to one another
on their greasy, brown leather booth
they haven’t noticed their hands are touching.

© Carl Burkitt 2023