Friday, 10 November 2017

Sat’dee Morning Rochdale ‘Spoons

Sat’dee morning 11 am
Ash brushed off jackets
Shoes burnished on
Trouser legs
Cans passed round
There are some
Proper folk
Getting draped
And hitched today
Our wings drop feathers
As we wait and shake
In Rochdale cold
On the hill

From our point of vantage
To our disadvantage
Despite this canny scene
What catches eyes down there
Between jokes
Is the ‘Spoons
We thought
We wished
We’d eyed up earlier

Two tall white men
A Stella glass
I can spot a mile off
In hand
A scarfed lady
Pushes pram
Head down
In a family way

The tragedy
Erupts centre stage
Jeans come down
To announce
A disgusting
Brewer’s drooper
That bounces
After their
Quickening pace

All for daring to be
Sharing space
For deigning
To exist
As some not
As pasty red
Or twat hatted
Or plain white
Dough of head

We’re the lucky ones
We don’t have to deal
In ev’ry day this survival game
Just temp’ry
Sick in pits
Images to be
Photoshopped with
Wedding champagne
In a bit

We’ve all got a brush
Tar feathers
Carrots sticks
Do we choose to disjoin?
Or do we choose to fix?
Either way
We are sick

We need
To get

So lift your head up
And get your head down
There’s still plenty of work
To be done see
As we learn this moral trade
Just use your tools
Very carefully

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