Y:off season

In the off season the boys still kick
The old drunk tramp with the one stringed violin,
But their violence is performed carelessly now
No elaborations necessary when there is no outside interest,
They walk away laughing and shoving each other affably
As he spits up cheap cider onto the newly mown turf.

In the off season the fruit machines in the arcade
Still vomit coins every now and then.
There's a sign by the door that nobody reads
'No unaccompanied minors'
Condoms and burger wrappers lap at the shore,
The junkies under the pier don't mind the blaring happy music
Or needles buried in the sand.
In the summer of course they're moved along.

Up on the cliffs in a rusty old metro
An old couple sit under a tartan rug
Devouring ham sandwiches and hot tea from a flask
As they stare through the horizon.
A small white dog sits in the back, hoping for some ham,
Pink tongue hangs loose flopping free around his slobbering jowls
The tartan rug is violently shaken to free all the crumbs
(No crumbs on the leatherette!)
Seagulls circle and swoop for them and shit on the windscreen,
'Vermin'
The dog pisses on the back tyre marking it proudly.
A nice day out in the off season, too busy in the summer.
The accelerator is pressed down hard.
Very close to the edge.