The Next Big Thing (An Anthem To Be Sung in the key of Genuine)

poetry

Let’s join the Byrd gang and all go throw rocks through windows. 
Let’s make Friday wait for us. 
You are part knife, part slab of meat. 
The world is a shark.

You know what comes next. 

Friday shiraz

poetry

Reflect.
Not too hard.
Thoughts aren’t cheap.
While it breathes,
undo your top two buttons.
Fire off a text or two.
Ponder the wordy label.
Check the fridge for cheese.

With the first sip,
be classy.
Swirl and glare or
you’ll forget what it feels like.
Sit down.
Take your damp boots off.
It tastes better that way.

While you wait for company,
don’t sigh.
Text someone else.
Put an album on.
Think about how tired you are,
how tired you’ll be
after just. one. glass.

As you unwind,
sip slowly.
Roll your head around.
Sing badly and casually.
Top the glass up.
Open a window.
Don’t rush it.
Meditate to the velvet.

When you’re half a bottle in
and the doorbell rings,
don’t hurry towards it.
Be calm.
Smooth your fringe and
check your teeth in the mirror.
Feel the scarlet syrup
linger.
Take a second or two longer than
necessary.
Open the door.
Begin.