Smoked like a kipper,

in the local Tan and Go.

Its 76 degrees outside,

and not a cloud on show.

A ten yard drive to the Co-op.

Park in a disabled space.

Have one last drag, on the tired fag,

hanging from your face.

Crushed velvet pink track suit.

“Angel” written on your arse.

The only heavenly body,

to embrace your hidden charms.