Fireworks in the Afternoon

If only there was more than this,
this rusting dented old spittoon
lined with a dahlia festoon,
this bucket of what looks like piss.

This rusting dented old spittoon
is all we have to count for bliss.
This bucket of what looks like piss,
far from the morning honeymoon,

is all we have to count for bliss.
It’s just a badly-drawn cartoon
far from the morning honeymoon,
it’s lies about an armistice.

It’s just a badly-drawn cartoon,
a dash towards a precipice,
it’s lies about an armistice,
it’s fireworks in the afternoon,

a dash towards a precipice
lined with a dahlia festoon.
It’s fireworks in the afternoon.
If only there was more than this.