‘You’ll make it worse’

she said.  But now her eyes
were fixed to Matt Damon’s ****,
hands full of Malteser mess.

My chubby digits do my walking
a finger-tip rub round the rim
takes the itch away.

I must have got bitten round her mate
Skanky Tina’s.  More hoover – less cat.
X     STA    CY

Now I’ve caught the edge.
pull back the scab and
in the popcorn bag.

Blood.  Oh my God, blood.
It starts to well, then trickle
down my leg toward the sofa.

If   I   can     balance      right
kitchen towel   just    too     far
wait, the pizza plate.  Perfect.

Tissue soaked in tomato grease
fits the bill just right.
‘What the Hell are you up to?’