Jo/Christmas Eve

We suppose that everyone’s at home with child,

When did we get so old, I was 36 then,

Coach seat fabric holds me in place

It burns to move

House red is a party trick for 12 quid,

Keeps me thin and sick.

I had watched my friends tooling and swelling on Stella,

Cave painting on the lacquer with cigarette ash, I was 18 then,

Used to be 20 minutes for a drink, where is everyone,

Hazed in countless shades of air bnb grey,

we slide off the cubicle,

find Mary Shelley on the wall,

her sepia a spew, no longer matches her panel,

So I was always 45, then.