He’s doing some kind of maths work in the pub
wearing a black and yellow Spice Girls T-shirt
looking like the coolest guy in the world.
Maybe it’s the set square jawline,
the smile wider than an Excel spreadsheet,
or the way he just ran out the door
and down the road quicker than Mel C
to hand an old lady the woolly hat
she accidentally left on her booth chair
before leaving. When he returned
with the hat on his head declaring
it was not actually hers, I would have
kissed his calculator-hard pecs
if he’d asked me to.

© Carl Burkitt 2023