Poem: So Heavily Earned

In the flat on The Terrace, they only ever spoke of the madness in mirth. Never as actual fact. It couldn’t get any worse than it already was –

the place was the pits and as long as the beer was flowing like wine they had a good time. That was the logic back then. To look at it now is to worry

of the waste of all that time. To waste any more time worrying…