Wednesday, 20 May 2009


Hardly a bastion of virtue:
Excluded from every joint in town,
But the one the locals would defend
As he makes their lives more tolerable.
He is the court fool who paints everyone
Else in fresher colours, and makes them
Feel a little better about their own
Cold lives, and the rugby starts
Today, with his head.

I will never get used to
Mutilation, but then again if I do
I guess I’m in trouble, and incidentally
It’s no friendlier up North; we just say it is
To give us the edge over those in the smoke.
And those people next door, they may be
Our neighbours, but even the ancient,
Who have lived there for ages,
Are barley comradely.

I fall out with people every
Few weeks or so, and it’s not that
I want to; it’s just that they feel me
Different, or see less clearly, and I can’t
Ever be several layers of me. I’ve been the
Worst of us, our intricacies; the known and
Lonesome bliss, a bucket full of piss and
For it I’ll probably die in a ditch with
A big fat bitch having wished it.

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