what’s the time, Mr Wolf?

there are times to eat salt and vinegar discos

there are times to lie about a dead relative to get off work

there are times to pretend your mate looks nice

there are times to let the cereal fall back out of your mouth as you cry

there are times to throw foreign coins in the bin because you don’t know what to do with them and they’re a bit cluttery

there are times to disappoint your mother by ordering steak

there are times to go on and on and on and on about it

there are times to waste the time you’ve been saying you’ve been really missing out on and just scroll idly through twitter (which you don’t even like)

there are times to shit in a bin

there are times to let your whole body shudder with how sad you feel

there are times to put make up on the baby

there are times to be really friendly to the woman in the post office

there are times to make a formal complaint

there are times to keep a diary

there are times to wee in the bath and then stay there

there are times to not put the lids on any of the jars properly

there are times to renew your road tax

there are times to contemplate getting a radical bob

there are times to dwell on over-eating

there are times to make out it wasn’t you

there are times to wash the dirt out of sagging folds of old skin

there are times to read 1940s copies of The Beano

there are times to describe a 5 year old child as a total cunt

there are times to write private notes to yourself to remind you to keep going

there are times to deeply regret writing insults on someone else’s bedroom wall

there are times to wear a push-up bra

there are times to stare out of a window as a way to look confident when alone in a bar

there are times to put your knickers in a public bin

there are times to eat a mixed kebab in a marketing firm’s doorway

there are times to inhale deep

there are times to think you might once have been a cruise ship singer

there are times to pick the plaque off your teeth with dirty old tweezers

there are times to go round with a shitty bit of cake in shitty little bag and say I’m so sorry

there are times to throw semen under a table

there are times to have rows about late night Hollyoaks and Avril Lavigne

there are times to avoid someone you quite like in the street

there are times to stroke the inside of a married man’s palm

there are times to get in the sea

there are times to want to be someone else

there are times to feel genuinely angry with a cat

there are times to steal a pack of butter from your local shop even though you said you’d only ever steal from big companies

there are times to resent having to wash for the rest of your life

there are times to change your name by deed poll

there are times to lie awake turning it all over

there are times to eat a creamy ready meal

there are times to smell your fingers after you have itched

there are times to hope people notice you’re actually not a bad singer

there are times to cut off your nose and end up angrily alone

there are times to hold their hair til the oramorph vomiting wears off

there are times to want it all to just stop

there are times to take acid and talk to the dog

there are times to wear out the pads on your fingertips

there are times to eat a roast dinner with your fingers

there are times to want a certificate

there are times to smell a bbq in the back field

there are times to sit by the beck and try to smoke regal kingsize

there are times to internally tally up your share of the bill

there are times to fuck in the toilets of a monastery

there are times

there are times

there’s time