birthday poem

I got stubbed out the fag end of December
another baby bawling in the festive stalling
between Christmas and the New Yeah Whatever

London was snowed-up
still, the doctor showed up
red faced and hearty
from a nurses’ party
because he needed a delivery
to sign him off maternity


the snow was up to Eros’ arse
when the drunken doctor skidded past
not that I knew or cared
I was too new and blue in the world
kicking in the cold at the end of my cord
learning what the hell these lungs were for