Friday Night's Alright
He paints his nails on Friday night after work.
Billie wails in the background, cheap varnish from the chemist.
All kohl'd up, steering the streets like a shark
at a feeding frenzy. He makes the most
of his flirty eyes, as dirty guys all
suits and sly smiles rash themselves over him.
They love his youth, the way he looks ill,
the fat, camp bouncers love letting him in.
He leaves the meat-market with spit on his lips,
and phone numbers written all over his arm.
It's a long way home but he won't come to harm,
he's far too skinny, all shoulders and hips.
Walking back, sated on burgers and fries,
he thinks of tonight, and sits down, and cries.
First published in The Yellow Crane, Number 15 Autumn 1999.
