The OAP Corned Beef Pasty Eating Invasion Of Victoria Gardens, 11am to Noon, Monday Through to Friday, Each Week… Barring Jumble Sale Mornings by Paul Tristram

Look at that fucking Myrtle Protheroe
over there by the bandstand
with that dip-shit husband of hers, Albert.
I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she is,
an all, about the place.
New ‘Shawl’ on the skank,
it’s enough to make you fucking spew, mun…
But, she’s from a right line of cunts to start with,
so there you go, Longford scum, the lot of them.
Lives next door to those Jenkins losers,
don’t even get me started
on those bunch of fucking inbreds…
Jesus, give me strength,
I haven’t got enough teeth left
to cowing chew on thinking about them all.
It’s nearing the end of the summer now, ain’t it,
that’s normally when her emphysema
and angina start giving her gyp,
A month or two after that,
when the leaves start dropping like pigeon shit,
his arthritis comes back to town
with a vengeance.
(Couldn’t have happened to a nicer
fucking person, if you ask me!)
Remember? One of those Tristram’s
broke his sodding knee-caps
with a pickaxe handle, donkey’s years ago.
Dew, I can’t fucking wait,
she’ll be a-huffing and a fucking puffing,
holding her chest with one hand
and pushing that useless cunt
around in a wheelchair
for 4 months of the year like a baby
(Aye, there is a God!)
Talking of fucking babies,
did you see the gormless face
on that Great-grandson of hers
outside the main entrance
of the Market, last week?
I had to stop for a gorp.
Face like a fucking slapped arse…
big shoulders on it, mind,
would have needed them, an all,
to help drag itself out of that abortion bucket.
Oh for fuck sake! you’re getting crumbs
all down your clean cravat, David,
and I only ironed that this morning,
I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t?
It’s like dragging a 75 year old child
around the shops with me, all the time, mun.

Unbreakable Published in BoySlut August 27th 2013 & Dead Snakes Jan 10th 2016

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at You can also read his poems and stories here!


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