Asshole

“Hey Dickhead”
came the voice of the foul mouthed,
blue t-shirted,
slogan slinging,
twat situated across the bar opposite me,
as a sea of checked shirts
and leopard prints surround myself
as far as the eye can see.

His hair looks like
it’s been fixed to his skull
with candle wax randomly,
and has tattoos drawn by a 4 year old
these are cool apparently?

Tonight he has excelled himself
drinking more units than a metric metre;
it’s like watching a horror film,
a double feature.

He drinks a pint of larger;
a pink WKD followed by another drink…
poison hopefully.

He thinks he commands the respect of his peers
but deep down
there is dis-respect and fear.

His fake tan makes it look like
the tubes have blown,
but enough clowning around
there are wild seeds to be sown.

He claims he can pull anything with a pulse,
real lady’s men
he tells them he was in the forces,
he fought in NAM!

He thinks he is a clever,
cheeky, “gavy”, “chavy”
but in reality he is in need of a bottle
and a change of nappy.

He lives with his parents he watched “glee”
you can hear him drive round Weston
in his XR3,
the stereo loud
he never drives far,
He cruises down forbidden streets
with his car door slightly ajar.

Your aftershave has a kind of toxic quality,
 you make me feel sick,
and I should report you to the authority’s
pretty dam quick.

You vomit over floors
it’s like walking in quicksand,
please don’t engage me in conversation
here talk to this hand.

The remains of the pre-drinking kebab from denziz
and the sandwich from john menzis
make an appreance
as do the 4 cans of special brew
that was drunken earlier for just
this sort of special occasion.

It takes 3 bouncers to sedate him ,
as his mates celebrate him,
and leave him alone in the gutter,
The lights dim , the noise goes quiet
as the town shuts its shutters
like they are expecting a riot.

Give this man a doggy bag
receptacle or bowl,
what a legend,
what an asshole.