Barrel o’ the Same

When t’ beer’s
Bin poisoned
By medal-chested
Knights of the profane,
The consequence
Of inaction,
Is more barrel
O’ the same.

Soft Shoe Shuffle

The soft shoe shuffle
Of ghosts.
The grunt nosed trouble
For the most,
Who’re relying,
On drying
Conditions.
Dreaming of toast.
The parliamentary kerfuffle
Is nowt,
To those
Who are learn-ed,
Knowest most.

Football Shaped

When all we cared
Was kerby kick-abouts
When the world was football-shaped
When the Alsatian’s tooth
Was the proof
We knew
That
As today
The Earth was ruled
By those who’d
Have it flat

Straight

It’s not
My fault
You’re a fucking nightmare
With your click
Tap heels
And straight hair
Cultural reappropriation
Has been
Going on
For years

Tabs Out

With a tab on
He contemplates
The tab behind the bar
He contemplates
The tabs in folders
He shoulders
The things
He should have done
Then
To balance it up
The next drinks
Are one the smaller one

The State of Homelessness

The state

Lies about the problem

They state

That the problem lies

With otherwise

And here lies the problem

And here lies the problem

Dunk

Freedom
Is a biscuit
That doesn’t know
How to dunk

Find the Gap

Find the gap
Between your brain
And this platform

Crown Jewels

In towers high
The pension schemers
Steal your dreams
To satisfy their glutton

In banquet halls
They’re eating beef
While on your plate
The lamb is really mutton

So here we stand
Hand in hand
It’s these 2 points we’re sticking ✌️

‘Cos it’s hard to guard
Your own Crown Jewels
When they get
A Royal kicking

Blood Pumping Station #2

Those Dagger words
He folded
Within a thou of an inch
And slid them under
The loading bay shutter of
Blood Pumping Station
#2

Those Dagger words
She’d scolded
Bypassed safety valves
Raised pressure
Caused critical waged warnings
In the guts
Of his boiler room

Those Dagger words
He hoped
Would miss the piss-taking
From the lads
On the night shift in his brain
He hoped
That maintenance
Would be round
To fix that soon

The War on the Streets

In the lamp light,
The child’s chair was a dead dog.
In the mourning light,
The bench was a national flag.
The lines had been redrawn badly.

The sand bags gave direction,
As the plastic guard surrounded
The excavated grave.
An energy drink drained
Was a bus stop sacrificial.
The wheel-less bike on the railings
Was a protester,
Chained and silenced and unofficial.

The wrapper discarded,
Was a daffodil,
To mark the start of the callous spring.
Gum chewed and spat by the trigger-happy,
Made bullet holes in the street.
Scaffold clips were lobbed
By the grenadiers of progress,

As the plastic bag kept lookout
In the butchered tree,
Scavenging birds picked the vital bits
From the sickness of scene.
We were caged for our convenience,
And there was no stopping here.

Moss in cracks grew as insignia.
Ring pulls were
Dog tags in body bags,
Tab ends were bullet shells.
Parking tickets rained as
Punishment propaganda.
Communication boxes
Were kicked in and slogan sprayed.
The speed bumps lay
Cemetery straight.

The pigeon spikes saluted,
The empty import lager bottles stood at ease.
The Sally Army bin spewed the guts
Of conscientious objectors,
The DVD box sets that sat on walls,
Provided no subtitles at all.

The battle was timed and recorded.
Holed foxes cried last post.
As the waste lay on the border,
Green boxes rectangular with lids,
Laid bare the celebrations of victors.
Lampposts were clung to
In memoriam.
The wounded staggered
And doorway propped
And bodies lay everywhere.

In the half light,
In given ways,
Through oncoming traffic,
The blood was let.
Through social scrubbing,
Embattled,
Evitcted.
Through community conflict,
Lest we forget,
How,
If war is made of memory,
These streets are paved with now.