A full carton of whole milk
Landed on the road as we arrived
With a dusting of window pane.
There was shouting, and then
A ramekin of jam followed.
Our presence is declared
We climb the stairs.
The flat’s kitchen is in disarray.
Two men sit at the kitchen table.
A, ‘fuck yous anyway’ indicates
Another in the room above.
He is sitting on the bed naked,
A tea towel covering his,
(Because we are all known
By our nicknames) edges the cloth
Up to ‘check’ for injury.
There, slightly the worse for wear
A Pavlova sits perched or impaled,
Hard to say now, the crisp
Outer is cracked and broken
And the soft marshmallow centre exposed.
You want cream with that mate? my colleague
Asked, I turned, beating a hasty retreat.