.. we fail to realise how unnecessary
many things are
Seneca – Letters from a Stoic

I may forbear fingering magalogs
of wants-not-needs – buying hope
on our poking ‘phones of popping
offerings/ Mutterings are greedily
overheard by AI [I’m replacing our
barbecue – a B&Q ad appears – its

pop-up perturbs us whilst we view
Love Island’s insta-brigues]/ I can
navel-gaze all day/ I am a shoddy
commodity [mine not so desirable
unless re-figured by an airbrush in
Photoshop’s too-mendacious bag]

My weight drops off when I bezzle
less – mathematics of fact – Money
don’t grow on trees – Mum’s mantra
from 1982 – Use of public transport
a sign of failure – Margaret’s lie/ My
first kiss was so cheap [still – it sits

on my tongue – that sort a’ buss – it
was false] Cash was a way to sex –
porn – not free-to-use [shame rarely
fell away] & kisses ad-libbed – atop
bus #72 – impurity among us teens
[on snogged trips to better shops –

one after another] & invigorated by
a weekend of expectation – parties
& bars – fingerings & fumbles – fags
& drugs – waking up numbed & lost
in off-girl sweat in unknown rooms/
Street signs guided me back home

with my thirst – but not desiring my
night’s before/ Shops locked up for
one day of rest – unless you craved
tobacco or red top headlines – such
days – could we survive them now –
in this miniaturised world of want?

Parcels fall through front doors & a
momentary high of fresh unboxing –
an art for product-placed vloggers/
Hopes are unwrapped & set buzzin’
[a buy-it-now drug]/ China will fulfil
endless shite – ’til we gripe – sucked
off & broke/ Kick me back to ’86 – to

those top decks of tongues & tits – I
lived a simple life without Byzantine
choices to tug my eye/ My return to
nothing much to do would follow my
shutting off purchasing in my palm/
It draws on us – until we are drained/
Perfect knowledge? Let it discharge