Guilt comes in stacks of four.
Black, White, Black Brights.
Strobe lights frame each second like a Kodak moment.
Nothing picture perfect about that night.
Black, white, black Brights,
Fights, outside the club doors,
wide women in glittery fabric
pout their lips,
show their teeth.
Jersey is easy to iron.
None crease .
You could pick it up straight from some ones bedroom floor.
Guilt comes in perfect squares,
not one dirty mark could be noted.
All colour coded
The night was slow,
slow gin dribbled down your chin.
Stained your skirt,
No amount of blotting in the toilets could take out.
The right moment.
You take off to some vain guys house,
Flounce your hair.
Take off your clothes .
In the morning you get dressed to go and see the stain.
'Out damn spot'
Guilt comes in ironing your boyfriends clothes,
Out like a light
he rolls about in bed.
Knowing that vanish removes 99 percent of stains,
But your hands will still be red.