Poem #2,854 | It is still fucking cold

It is still fucking cold
[even with climate &
other things] – shiver
fits take me into a hit
of tremors as if sick –
There’s no warmth in
this dead pub – a pair
of would-be lovers in
a discussion ’bout all
their auld fucks are a
level too loud [p’raps
I’ll crunch my crisps]
& I bear their flirts as
my pint is downed – I
will warm in my bed –
alone I will sleep well