Your Boot

Your Boot I sleep in the back of your car while you drive around the block to the shop. Doze off as you park up for the night and go to your bed— mine is in your car on a piece of old sack for a blanket and oily foam for my pillow. Not too bad when a tramp has a box. How did I become stuck here? All I can do is sleep or dream of escape when your key opens the lock. When? Got a car jack jammed against my ass and a spare tyre as a bed companion. I doze for a time, fall into a deep comfortable sleep to dream of enclosed spaces, of how I love them, always get into predicaments like this. Seven hours later I awake, switch on the inner light and have a strong beer I nicked in yesteryear. Got four more strong ones to follow. I turn on my old Sony Walkman cassette player and listen to the Bangles and have a real good bop in my your dirty old car boot. Must get a chick and do this with a girl! In a boot with a girl, what fun. Imagine the positions. When will it be the day, is this dark place warming up – daylight? You come and open the car and away we go. Where will I go? A shallow grave or another cooped up day?