There are shifty old suits
In front of plain doors
Like refugees from some
East End gangster Disneyland,
Smoking stories of knuckles,
Knives and warm, flat ale,
Of hot nights and cheap kebabs
And the sickly sweet stink
Of overflowing bins.
They watch the pretty
East European girls with
Loose tits proud beneath
Cheap polyester blouses
Drink throwaway cups of
Skinny soy milk vanilla lattes,
Whilst scorning the quiffs
And skinny jeans and handlebars
And brown loafers that scream
Peak hipster vegan Apple cult:
The digital Shoreditch wankers
Infecting the city with
Bearded Uber cool, entitled
Indignation and vape clouds.
And while Brewer Street bento boxes
And international tricks
On Great Windmill Street now grind
The bladed edges of the evening,
They remember sticky gropes in
Skin flick fleapits and peep shows,
The pretty phone box girls who
Carded for a blowjob on Ganton Street,
And the drunks and dreamers who
Scored the vinyl soundtrack
Of their faded years.
26th September 2017
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Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
