Nuclei board the bus in files
fledged from guttered pairings,
their doorstep love interwoven
into themes of that reality
they dreamed would be their 'Jeremy Kyle.'
Bright caps on dull heads distaste
the near-sentient pram-person;
those caps calibrated with vague
opiate excretions colouring auras:
its singularity in fact a regularity.
Non-capacious heads drole
over smiles, with tightrope pony-tails,
gaspingly swaying prams and rattles
copiously laughing and flying drug-stewed
bottles at spittle-blubbering runways.
Dense pairings, in the act of time,
substituting love for style.
Their bus rides end, diaphragms purge
- pushing prams past prams -
and they i-pod home to mum and dad.