Jack rolls black joints
and tells us to
sip them like tea
under the kazeebo tonight.
The sky is covered
in diet Pepsi;
clumsy moon must have spilt it
over the canvass
of the day,
but it’s okay because he says
he’ll buy a new one
when the shops open next,
we know
he always tries his best.

Taylor says it feels
as though
we’ve been transported
to a resort in
the South of Spain.

I take my jacket off.

Chris asks us if he smells
of anything sinister.
I look up from the step
and whisper,
“If they don’t know by now,
then they’re morons
with office jobs,”
we share a laugh and
in that moment,
somehow we forget
that this, and everything else
will come to an end.