Everyone's got a spotlight

The penny-drop choreography
of a drunk at a hubcap,
his self-image in the slanted chrome.
Then later, bowing outside Somerfield,
encore after encore,
doubled over with the gush
of applause and the colour
of the pavement.

And the couple who have practised
and perfected the same fight:
Trailing her sugared mist
he steps under the streetlamp,
arms out wide, letting the neighbourhood
know: he would never, she’s got him wrong
again. Their routine is tight;
the sash windows cheer;
they audience are standing, puffy-eyed,
overcome with the feeling of it.