I’ll always remember, first gear was sticking.
I was in the Picasso, just after its MOT.
Flipping Brynglas tunnel gridlock as usual
My finger was tapping a fair old tattoo.
Stomach knotted. Acid reflux. Take a Renee.
It’s a shame the new road will wreck the levels.
They say there are cranes nesting there –
the first for four hundred years. Oh well, c’est la vie.
At eight, I inched onto the 4042.
It’s alright Newport. But the traffic ...
Perhaps if the jet pack had been invented
you wouldn’t have taken up the ukelele
and fallen in love with that lout
and then, maybe, you wouldn’t have walked out.
I would have got home earlier, see.
Rubber hits drive. Aldi chicken in micro
and a post-it: ‘Brian, it’s not you, it's me.’
My fate was sealed when he showed you
how the diminished chord slides smoothly
up the uke's fretboard. Soon, you were wooing.
You moved in with him, set up a new life.
Flipping traffic, flipping cranes, flipping gearbox.
Congestion on the M4 cost me my wife.
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