Poems.

Clown Punk - Simon Armitage

 Driving home through the shonky side of town,

Three times out of 10, you'll see the town clown,

Like a basket of washing that got up,

And walked, towing a dog on a rope,

But don't laugh,

Every pixel of that mans skin is shot through with indelible ink, 

As he steps out at the fraffic lights, 

Think what he will look like in thirty years time, 

The deflated face and shrunken face still daubed with sad tattoos of high punk,

You kids in the back seat who wince and scream,

When he slathers his daft mush on the windscreen,

Remember the clown punk with his dyed brain,

Then picture windscreen wipers, and let it rain.


I find this poem quite sad; why should anyone be judged by their appearance? Let them be who they want to be. You can be who you want to be, you have the freedom to show your true colours, so do it xx