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
Collectively
We are sick
We need
To get
Better
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
Please
Just use your tools
Very carefully
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