Beyond my street's de
capitated trees
victorian semis peter out
to victorian sewers.
There's the colonnade,
the crap flats,
then old pipes wrenched out
of the ground
by greasy fingers in the rain,
slipped, skipped,
plastic put back in again.
I sip a glass,
which will slip through me to
stream, jaundiced,
from pipes, mine to theirs,
old or new,
the piss is still the same.
Wednesday 13 May 2009
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