#43: Bills And Moons

So you slit the envelope with a fish knife.

I like how you always use a utensil
to open letters - it is a brilliant affectation,
like a dayglo monocle,
or bowling an apple at people's shins
then yelling: 'Owzat!' and grinning.

It's a final demand.
Apparently we owe the energy company over
20 grand, which seems a bit steep.
You start to weep, the fish knife
slipping from your hands.

Then I check the signature.
'What's this? "love Bill"?'
We hear a laugh from outside the window.

Bill is in the street, chortling himself puce,
He has his trousers round his ankles,
red buttocks aimed at our faces
like a heat ray.