Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Blind Town Rag.

A red letter day
they called it.
Maybe it was just
a pigment of the imagination.
But it made the local rag,
where loyalty depends
on whose purse
is pulling all the strings,
and tying down the other things
in the bag with the cat.

By slippery cobbled back-street bins
and fat-caked café kitchen dins,
a cat lies flat and pecked at.
Excess sewage overflows,
weekend’s rubbish blindly blows
and sticks to shit.
Septic sores scabbing over.

So let’s pretend it isn’t so,
don’t print it, then no-one will know
what they're certain of already.
Save headlines for the fundraisers
who never want a fuss,
such an honour to be famous
and remain

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