King Street, Aberdeen

The rank fishy waft floating
Down the long straight of King Street,
Shops selling hallal-meat and spices, or
Broken-down bric-a-brac, yellow-paged novels,
Slightly-chipped china, outdated computergames,
The somnolent air of October afternoons
Caught on the cusp of chipshop teatimes,
The dusk coming in like sleep -

The late-waking student-postered flats,
Up, noisily, all night long,
Flushed mothers buggy-struggling,
Tantrum-tormented,
Pickled drunkards in old mouldy suits
Grumbling secrets to uncaring passersby -

An overcast day gives way to dull dusk:
Streetlights cast their glow, shops spill
Advertising light onto moist pavements.
Someone leaving a pub opens the door
To a full-faced blast of the rancid warm reek
Of lager, cheap whisky, fags, sweat and piss.

The fading light departs.
The shops have shut. A truck trundles
To blinking squeaking traffic-lights,
Its wake a rank fishy waft floating
Down the long straight of King Street.