Vulture Magazine The Michaelmas Issue 2013 | Page 26

Cold Pizza
We both like the same pizza toppings.
Solidarity in salami and pressured by
Pineapple as we are told it is good for us.
That we should count it one of five,
And keep our lives ticking over;
Struggling to keep the end in sightTo get drunk and forget as we lie at night.
They say we must Love it or hate it,
Licking fingers and knives, half sticky,
In near-empty jars, scraping out the last,
And half melted butter dripping from
Crumpets by fires with rugs,
To stormy nights and sheltered inside chatsAs rain pricks the panes between window slats.
Of them saying watch that and then read thisThen to the goldfish bowl that contains no fish.
And waiting for the freedom that comes with dusk,
Or those afternoons spent on sun warmed grass,
Or walking through mists that cling to your eyelashes,
(Making me jealous of water.)
And we both find solace in cigarettes,
Those white cancer sticks.
Of time for yourself and
Socially accepted self harmAnd talks with dying strangers under electric lights,
Huddled in the rain and by red-brick clubs,
While our friends dance ar ?[??[Y?[?Y???[??[?[?H?\??????]?YH?[??H[?H?[?I???????[?H ?[HH??]?[??YHYH???[?H?H]?^H???H]????Y?????[?X?[?X\??YK?\??][?Y???\?\[?Y?Y??K?Y]?Z]\??\?X\????[?H]?H??\???\?HH]?H?\????[?????\KZ?ZX?K\\?H?Z[??^H?X???[???Z\??YX?[?[?^???X????]?H?Y???