finicky

out there it's all
eat the boneless banquet for one,
teeth screeching
through the fat tumour on the chicken's thigh,

right, so it's all
shredded flesh and lettuce,
skinny lemon,
dark secretions,
clam shell burger box,
and a trillion magazine triangles;

yeah, and it's all
empty the dog where
urchins boot balls, where
bonkers barefoots sup cider and
ask for exactly ten pence;

yeah, but up your mum's it's all
take your shoes off,
don't touch the walls,
keep your fiddly fingers off,
disinfect everything,
take pride in your rim block,
plug in the freshmatic refill
and
never touch a germy soap pump again.