Sympathy,
Sympathy,
They’ve all got it in for me..
I only know I am walking in Brighton
because the numbers 74 74 74
on taxi cabs semaphore the fact
that and the Number 24 is in club mode..
Thick, propped
in the black-slapped
under-belly
of Brighton’s Komedia..
I am in the place of making poetry,
as Causley did, a revelation when
greengrocer-ed by school kids,
and then he described the act..
Tossers, tossers,
tossers in suits,
groomed to an inch
of their Tory blue roots..
The same streets which I once took
with Kodachrome and pesetas
are now stolen by cruise line tourists..
Aye, I would ask Maggie Gyllenhaal
to be my bride, with her feisty call..
The odoriferous sound
of others’ discomforts
may force to reduction,
your gnawing intolerance…