Fooled, almost

Almost, for a split second, you had me:
but the same old ploys, same mock-desperation,
compulsive lies, repulsive explanations
made a think bubble hover over your head.

"I need to take the kids to the baths," you said.
"The poor little kids' eyes! I promised the wife.
And my wages haven't been paid in.
It's a banking scandal."

But your think bubble said:
"I need to gamble."

"Will a tenner do?"

"Can you make it twenty?"

You mithered my doorbell. You coloured me angry.

"Oh, you were in the shower. I didn't think."

But your think bubble thought:
"I need a drink."

I felt -
a feeling under the English weather -
your cower behind the vague replies of the child
you nobly sent to answer the door
who didn't know when you'd be back
(yes, she was sure...sure she wasn't sure)
peeking through the chain's three inch gap.

That chain
and that kid
are the best investments you ever made

almost better than that tip for Haydock
almost better than that gin and lemonade.

As lawnmower mates,
we once chewed the fat.
But your think bubble stated:
"These things never last."