One Night I Stole a Purple Balloon

One night I stole a purple balloon

From a cheaply decorated nightclub

I was pissed out of my mind so it looked pretty

And taking it seemed a good idea.

 

When I tied it up at home

Like a child decorating for a birthday party

I did not expect it to be there for long: balloons

Tend to run out of air or escape when you loosen your grip

But this one wasn’t filled with helium

And wouldn’t go.

 

I knew I didn’t want it forever,

But wouldn’t want to make a mess and prick it.

I might miss it. Perhaps would never find another one

I didn’t have to pay for or blow.

 

This one came to me, free of charge,

Floated towards me across the sticky dance floor

To the bass beat of Call Me Maybe.

 I took it home thinking it would

Break and be gone on its own accord.

I was wrong.

 

I often have moments of doubt,

Thinking I should start decorating in yellow,

Or simply stop nicking things and

Fill my flat with something intenser.

Next time, I’ll get scented candles

From Marks and Spencer.