Portent

I feel middle class when I'm in love.
I think it's all the poached eggs on bird-seed bread,
staying up all night on Zoopla-imagine
waking under cottage beams,
the laughter in a garden. Kids.
A little boy with gold hair
keeps standing in my dreams.

I read somewhere that it takes three hundred years,
about thirteen generations, to change your social class.
I think about this whilst having a fag-I'm-quitting,
head against the doorbell-it's broken
but sometimes, after My Love has left for work,
after his hand- held shower, and a pee
in the gaffer-taped loo, I hear it
ringing and ringing.