wants to crash through
the door of the Sutton Arms at closing time,
down a pint in one
then bend the barmaid back like a Tango partner
and snog her in front of her mother.
He does not want to attend
the Church Fenton Christmas Carol Service,
but leer at the nuns who shop at the Village Store,
or at least make lewd gestures at their car.
He’s aching to join
the Bolton Percy and Wighill Birdwatcher’s Society,
so he can tip-toe down to the hide and watch
their blank faces as all the pee-wits shoot off
when he lets out his Tarzan roar.
He longs to tell
the Manager of the Harrogate Natwest
he’s blown the bridging loan on a pink Jag,
is about to leave England for Jamaica –
but will pay her back when he can.
And on the morning of the competition
for the best-kept garden in Little Ditton,
he’s going to swap
the name on the gates
of Honeysuckle Cottage and The Willows
to Clamydia, Gonorrhoea –
then drive a muckspreader down the street
in aid of Comic Relief.