Up to Here with the Weather ... (I.P.)

and up to here with you,
along with all your bullshit.
You can’t abide me smoking
in the flat; that’s why
I’m out here, on the roof
on this dismal afternoon...

O.K. I will pack it in – one
of these days; cigarettes,
amongst a good few other things,
bad for my health as they are,
are something to hold on to...

‘So what’s wrong with right now?’
I ask myself – aiming the butt
of, what could possibly be,
my very last fag,
at an ink-black puddle;
my fate decided
by the flick of a wrist.

Down below – some brat
slams his ball
against the pavement,
and someone yells
for somebody called
Tracey to get her arse
inside – finish
the washing up...

Frozen to the bone,
go back to the stairwell
of this god-awful
tenement block; treading
the selfsame steps
that hope once trod
a year or so ago;

all alone – except for
a mangy tabby cat
that’s taken a shine to me
and a rubbish cigarette...
I can't even throw straight.