Hunched and needy
Like baby gulls
We stalk the street
For sustenance
Stepping gingerly
Over
The once
Used
Herbal
Tea bags
And broken needles
That spill from brightening bins
In the dwindling dawns of August
Of better days within this
Earthen purgatory
When we were brown and pretty
It was no job
To breathe more and less freely
But now we stalk the streets
Beneath the laughing mooning ball above
In between the raining drops
By the graffitoo shuttered shops
Into the maw
The muscled chops
Of
The Royal Nail
The lifers inside
So lifeless with pride
Good
Morningly! grunt their acknowledge
Let out to their wives at eventide
They are always back here stirring their
porridge
Will be two hours yet as a coffee-god’s pet
Before we can summon a smile
We keep weather-beaten heads down
In the back of Transits
On old copies of goals extra or extra goals
Or made up goals with moving posts
As the red valkyries descend
From the upstairs garage
Into the yard yawning with boredom
Like the back doors cold open wide
Waiting is time
And labour intensive
And work is last on the mind
A beardy they branded Jumanji walks by
And there’s Dazzer sungover again
And Grizzly Badams with his drizzly voice
And desiccated Ruth with a fag at her chin
And are they as desperate or do they
prepare
And are they aware and of course do they
care
About this all pervasive attitude
The constant twatting platitudes
For that’s all we hear
Somedays
Shaven headed voices
Spitting casual brutalities
From their fascicle
There in an element that never forgives
Closed ranks of a herd
But this pack is bird like
Right wing they are
For a working union
A bundle of sour white faces
Who defend their misguide
With persiflage turning
To vicious whispers
And insult camouflaged by
Supposed camaraderie
Banter they call it
The fuckers
Seriously
Forget diversity
They need dimension
Even Postman Pat had three
Which maybe hard to define
On a flatscreen tv
Although there was more depth in that episode
When he refused to deliver leaflets for
the BNP
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