The South


Up…and down

the

stairs,

new stairs,

in this

new

place.

Tv…first for

years…

young boy killed

by young

dog.

1400 kids abused

in

Rotherham,

taxi

drivers

‘heavily

involved’…

Tv off…the last

for fucking

years…

out,

away from that

place…into a new one…

the girl in

the pink,

tight,

jeans,

thank you…

just,

thank

you.

“I’ll fight for what’s right…

in the end, it’s the docks

that are paying their

wages”…

says

the woman at

the next

table…as children

cry…whilst their

adults

drink wine

over

to my

left…

many glasses

upon the three

stained,

wooden,

tables – pushed

together.

The beautiful couple

enter the cafe…

the menu board…

then walk away,

too expensive

i expect,

i came prepared

with

sandwiches

from

home?

I can feel the

disconnect

today

here in the garden

of

England

where it rarely rains,

i am told

frequently,

as though this

is

a

good

thing.

“We’re off to Jamaica in

March” says

the

woman

at the next

table,

seems there’s good

money

to be made

working the

docks,

as a glass

smashes

in front of

me,

and

the

adults sitting

and drinking

at the

three

stained wooden tables

pushed together,

ramp it up a notch,

and fumble with

one of those

those big

umbrella

things.

Their children

still

cry,

as

i

hit

‘save’

and

move on out

into

the

beautiful

rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 Responses to “The South”

  1. Dear Drummer Boy have missed your blogging and it’s good to feel reality peaking up through the foam of the obligatory machu pichu latte.

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