Come on - no-one believes that crap about “happily ever after” - as an elderly relative said to my husband shortly after we met: “You on farting terms with her yet?”

I’ll bet his eyes are gorging TV football!
I’m slammed into the garden by our quarrel
angry-warm at first, growing colder, lost…
the marriage circle ruptured like a bitten apple…
the moon empties her tin of dark shine
on me, I need to pee, I need to pee…

The bladders of washing I washed for him
leak and drip on the line. I washed, for him?
If he was reasonable he’d look for me
- those stupid trousers dripping - love and seek
you bastard, love and seek. The fool
has left me to my bad temper and my full bladder.

I can’t wait. Frost-nipped blackcurrant bushes shelter me,
drawers down, I crouch, remembering urine will provide
the blackcurrant bushes with nitrates - in full flow
I’m lit like cinema as the fool
flings brilliance through the open door!
A puzzled shout; Oh there you are! White frost
puddling, melting, steaming… how humiliating...