I need my next fix.

I need the needle to come gently down

and give me an escape route out of what could be

a boring existence,

if not for my not so-secret vice.

The odd burning cigar still lingers here.

Long gone is the bitter recrimination of a pint savoured and destroyed

and the gentle relaxation of something intangible

has not been taken for a while

as my friend in Oxford I haven’t seen.

I need my latest fix.

I first visited the dealer on my own far too young.