School's Out Down Gas House Lane
Kids swarm like flies to the sweet shop
round the corner. “Two at a time,”
or so the notice says. Pissing
in the wind – him that owns it;
none of ‘em can count...
let alone read.
Clutching at her ‘wand’, a loo-brush
tied with tinsel, a fairy-queen emerges
from number ninety-three...wings
of the ‘Finest’ cling-film type
aquiver in the wind.
‘Flowers’ in her hair – ‘daisies’
of the Kleenex tissue kind, complete
with jazzy cardie – buttoned up
all wrong; flimsy, cotton dress –
Her twin-sister by her side
makes a bee-line for her wand,
as they both stand – mouths agog,
The boys make mischief
with an old, down-pipe...pilfered
from a tip just down the road.
The biggest one totes it,
The filthy rotten scum!
If they ain’t careful...right,
he’ll blow their brains out...right,
in a calculated, random kind
Catcalls ricochet off scrawled-on walls.
A little one's nicked a bike; just down
the street, it collides – broadside
with a tree. They laugh –
he cries; until the fairy
wipes his eyes...blows his nose.
“Who needs daisies anyway?”
she says, which makes him giggle,
as tiny feet jiggle in fluffy, pink slippers;
Mister Nasty pictured on the toes.
“Bastards!” she yells to no one special –
spins, full circle – kicks the air,
karate style. Blows a kiss in a bubble
at her sister.