Tim Peake Blasts Off
A three red night sucks
its denouement this morning.
All lights on and doors left causal open.
Perfect funeral weather.
Took the cure but it ain’t got through.
Think I’ll pester F-Bomb in a mo.
Naught doing on
the scribble western front.
Guts gargle in red
wine and ready salted crisps.
Permanent wet dusk.
