The Duke of Fife

Nibbling Stilton

Just for the protein--

Counting on quarters,

And praying for protean

Numbers on every Teller receipt.

Smells like defeat.

I remember

Ten-pounda-month

Crack an egg on some bread,

And today you are fed.

Smoking weed from the sofa cracks,

And writing like hacks.

The Duke of Fife

Watched from his frame,

Demure, as my thin,

Pale thumbs flipped a skin

Over dry, dead tobacco flakes,

To ease my belly-aches.

I left

For a reason.
The Duke never wept.

He watched as I slept.

He laughed when I woke,

And was still broke.