Because I turned up from Bombay

too prissy to be rude

because you arrived via Leeds and Burnley

you thought it would do me good

to learn some Language. So

you never just fell, you went arse over tits,

and you were never not bothered

you just couldn’t be arsed, and when

you laughed you laughed like an effing drain

and when there was pain it was a pain

in the arse.

That was just the start: you taught me

all the Language you knew

right through the alphabet from a to z,

from first to last, from bad to worse and worser

and the very worst you could muster.

I learned the curses. I learned the curser.

So proper you looked in your nice shoes and suit

until you produced Language like magic

out of your mouth and I was impressed

and oh I fell for you arse over tits

and when I said so you laughed like a drain

and we blinded and swore like the daft buggers

we were, all the way down Clerkenwell

and all the way up on the train

to the Horseshoe Pass.

And I tell you, since you went it’s a pain

in the arse, and when some days I feel like shit

or when I say that I feel flat, I swear

I hear you laugh like a drain.

Not just flat, Mrs, Flat as a witch’s tit,

that’s what you say. Flat

as a witch’s tit.

IMTIAZ DHARKER