Even if this does prove

to be our last fish and chip supper,

even if it's technically 

just a pub lunch, 

if Vladimir the Poisoner

in a mad rage presses the button  

just because we don't admire

his rippling torso, just because

we laugh at his ugly Botox features,

 

before I perform in the am-dram

tonight, before we even rehearse

the lines one more time, then

I'd just like to say what

a gas it's all been, how 

there's no one I'd rather

have spent my time with, 

and how I've never contemplated

the big IT, the big one, before now. 

 

And how I'd like to extend my love  

to those slain thirteen soldiers 

on the Black Sea island who

when told to surrender said 

'Go fuck yourselves', my love

to all Ukrainians, and to the 

Russians being bundled away

in police vans, to all Russians

save one, too. 

 

I know, it's the beer talking ...