Josie

Joe

Are you wearing panties today

Yes why do you ask

Interested

If ewe have to no I have an infection

Where

In my fucking ear

I have not kissed your ear recently

You have beautiful ears

But ewe have kissed my cunt

With a lip sore

Are you without infection Sephine

At present Josie

You were very careless Joe

I will not apologise

Why

Because February is the saddest month

It is totally devoid of light

Heavy mists hang over the city

February does not lie

The city tires of February almost instantly

It offers so little unlike its later cousins

People shuffle across roads hoping the die

In the summer people dance across the streets

Death is the last thing that they wish to meet

They look at their dull reflections in brutal puddles

There is no colour with only traffic lights showing life

Your adored trees are now just damp skeletons without garment

Heavy shoes grey and black gloves not up for the task

January was a brittle whore fading but not diseased

Yet her sister who is far more robust disgusts you

Joe what the fuck are you wittering on about

Have you been on the funny fags again

No

Then why

Un mois sans soleil

That is poor French

Stop hiding behind your words

It is likely that I will have to go

Go where

To the fucking doctors

What happens if he enquires of origin

My brother who I hate intensely

Popped down there for a visit

He had a lip sore you know

If you put it like that

It is indeed as bleak as the month