Death by Life
Then sit and watch me drink myself to death,you neo-Perriers, you health-obsessed.
Your life-style columns say your way is best
and possibly you'll draw your final breath
in some sad centenarians' Shangri-La
attended by your memories of friends
who, by your lights, met their untimely ends
through ill-advised indulgence at the bar.
But I will tramp ten miles today, and sweat
my small-town boredom out against the hills
ignoring them, remembering Cristina
and how she leapt onto my back to get
a better view of Oxford Street. Between a
Brazilian babe and booze, it's life that kills.
