5th of November:
Outside, the air suitably smells of powder, smoke — it’s bitter cold but no matter, because for the crowds, it’s all about homegrown terrorism and Guy Fawkes.
A penny for the guy and a penny for your thoughts, before you play your hand — straight As for your poker face and the impressive attention span.
It’s a royal flush of course: you win, take everything-including me-on the table. It’s messy, it’s bold, the cards tumble, fall to the floor.
“Preposterous” I mumble.
Why? I don’t know, maybe the wine was responsible, or this is what happens when sanity crumbles.
“Say it again” he tells me…he insists, when I don’t reply instantly.
I oblige: “Pre-pos-ter-ous”
Possibly the strangest dirty talk ever, have I done weirder? I can’t recall.
Nevertheless, as long as there’s no straight jackets, give us a cell and padded walls—sex laced with intellect from dusk till dawn—I guarantee I’d never get bored.
Pre-pos-ter-ous. Possibly my new favourite word…this, I discovered on a night filled with fireworks, on the
5th of November.