You cannae write that
he said in mouthful-of
voice as he read it out
to a throng of two [an
obliged turnout of us]
& laughed aloud [as if
in a bit-part role] – My
stomach’s load rolled
with vomit’s promise –
I cannae drink nae no’
was his next wordplay
of too many beers – At
times Scottish-Dave &
his ways would launch
into endless reveries –
not tonight – stumping-
done by my verse-line
& his eyes – Shite! You
write shite poems! My
wide smile caught his
loud brightened retort