Future tense

Vinyl whispers erode my froth as I sit with coffee in someone's wedding china. Me in shorts, my feet in brogues.

My pencilled K. Amis
brings me to
brandy-starers
with family crests,
leather headrests in

clubs with fees and

rich mahogany.

I and them, we
are soft-boiled men
in wooden rooms,
backwards facing
like train options or
babies after milk.

Progress, like cutlery,
can be found
in the kitchen.