They walk about the City Centre in the afternoons
getting in the road of every other decent cunt
who’s just trying to get to Cash Converter’s
and back to the Dealer’s door
without the entire world caving in, again.
Holding Argos sovereign-ringed hands,
sharing Poundland bags of ‘Haribo Mixes’
‘No, you have the heart one, my petal’
Move out of the way or I’ll punch you
right in the back of the fucking head, numpty!
Carrying bottles of Pepsi Max
around the place like it’s a pint of ale?
Filling McDonalds right up to the door
when you’re rushing in to get upstairs
with the beer-shits half hanging out of you.
(No one eats in there anyway…
except ‘Those People’, gangs of teenagers
who look too young to get into bars yet
and small children with stupid fucking parents!)
And bus queues… don’t even get me started…
Jesus Christ… Give Me Fucking Strength!!!
They’re always at the front and as slow as mildew,
they get there early with plenty of time to spare,
so they can index finger read the TV guide out loud
to their better half (Ha!) like it’s a fucking love sonnet.
Taking the piss is an understatement,
they were born and fucking bred to do it!
I’d pack up and move out to the Country,
but, I’ve already tried that, there’s nothing there,
except one pub to get ‘Barred For Life’ from
and lots of scenery until you’re fucking sick of it!
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) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096 ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036 And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326415204 You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
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