Man #2564753

On picture postcard beaches,
perfect men with perma-tans
pull sexy blondes and surfboards
from the tops of camper vans.

I watch them from the shadows
in my long-sleeved shirt and hunch
then timidly let a seagull
come and confiscate my lunch.

In business, I am baffled
by the pie charts and the Venns
of men who count in billions
while I barely count in tens.

In pubs and clubs, I enter,
fully knowing that soon after
shall come that dreaded descant
of some girls’ derisive laughter.

I've spots and scabs and pimples,
blobs of snot upon my jacket,
burn every piece of toast I cook,
eat cornflakes from the packet.

I drink too much. I cry.
I’ve never found my niche.
I’ve never had a girl.
I love cats, read comics,
eat quiche.