I'm having milk shot into my arm
And getting off on bumps on the road
To be happier and less alarmed
At the state of things
At being without wings
And sweet dealings of prolonged engagement.

It's just when my limbs go weak and my lips can't speak
Protests against coarse-haired men
That I fall deep into some coffee stained furore
And curl into anyone

Mortarboards tip and topple their way to the ground
Without dignity and with no pretence of significance
Like any old hat or girl