In Ringles Cross

In Ringles Cross beer-slugged
punters slag off a gypsy truck

as their recent jukebox choice
[a decade-old song] plays on –

Swill of another pint as talk is
turned to immigrants & more

beached boats found empty –
they redden by that fireplace –

men cocksure licked – flamed
minds & skin cooked by hate –

this town twists with hatred’s
whispered grip – my ale turns

in my gut as if it’s out-of-date
& only good for tipping away

down a drain – we’ll piss it all
off [drunks will die by wroth]