Oh God, how are you still talking?
I can feel myself nodding,
head bouncing like a metronome,
Yes. No. Maybe.
Of course I’m listening, Babe.
Except I’m not - obviously.
I’m  watching that girl walk by, all lithe limbs,
languidly lounging past the window.
I wonder where she’s going,
I wonder where you’re going -  
with this tiresome tirade.
Your eyes rolling, like the reels on the fruit machine,
No delay on your train of thought.
Hard to keep track, can’t read the signals,
eyes filled with smoke,
trapped by your tedious tannoy,
covering old ground,
chugging relentlessly,
chanting incessantly,
crowing endlessly,  
My job? It’s fine.
My health? It’s fine!
Finances? Enough to get a pint in!
Can I risk a diversion?
Why are you broadcasting this nonsense?
When will it stop?
Pregnant.
Pause.
Wait. What?

Daffodil’s gold crown
Peeks above the fresh grown lawn
Look out! Crouching dog!

Sun on back of neck
Meat spits and pops over red flame
Ah, no ketchup left.

Trees float by like ghosts
The countryside cast in bronze
Stop! Leaves on the line.

Winter coat and scarf
Protects against the cold but,
Not from ice path falls.

Turn on the TV and switch off your brain,
tune into Jezza as you fade out the shame,
point at his cattle, and laugh at their pain,
forget their faces,
cos’ they all look the same.
Memorise headlines, forgetting you’re smart,
the news screaming fear, as this world ‘falls apart’
hating your neighbour’s a good place to start,
he’s likely a ****, or a bomber  
at heart.
‘England Expects’ is their asinine bray,
as they talk up the players on ‘Match of the Day’
before posting on Twitter that one of em’s gay.
‘Oh we lost in the semis?’
Start feigning dismay.
Forget about stress, skip working hard,
you can lend owt till payday, or just get a new card,
it doesn’t matter, if your credit is barred,
say you slipped in reception,
and hit your knee hard.
Now! Vital News! Our cameras have spied,
the markings of botox on that celebrity bride.
Maybe it’s scandal, there’s no rush to decide,
you’ve opened the box,
and its trapped you inside.

This train home is twice delayed,
it's ******* up the plans I've made
and in the pub I wish I'd stayed.
It's still not here yet.  

I have no doubt when it comes soon,
I'll have to endure a banging tune -
from the Ipod of some drunken buffoon,
It's still not here yet.

I sometimes wish that I'd take wing -
Like Icarus or a feathered thing,
That builds its nest from twigs and string.
It's still not here yet.

I suppose in time we'll own a car
and avoid all those bizarre -
excuses from the conductor.
It's still not here yet.

In time we'll take drives to the beach
and let a wild dog off the leash,
while the sea wind steals our speech.
It's still not here yet.

We'll have a garden for barbeques,
with potted plants and stunning views
and comfy chairs in which to snooze,
but we're not there yet.

My mates ‘ll be in Geography now,
painting Tipex on their -  
nails, and swishing their hair about,
cos they’re worth it.
Hoping the boys will notice
their cheeky smiles,
before having a crafty ***,
and a pasty from Greggs.
I should be in Geography now,
but I’m sitting here -
instead,
staring at the blue line that’s telling me,
I’m dead,
because my parents are going to
flip,
a kid having a kid,
what will the neighbours say?
Should I run away, or stay and face -
the music that won’t stop playing, can’t turn it off like
my Ipod,
can’t skip this track,
can’t look back, or re-sit this test
none of my mates will know what’s best
School’s out.

Pound shop,
pawnshop,
amusement arcade.
Spending the pittance of a life that they’ve made
at the job centre,
having it large,
scratting up tab ends,
before making a charge
to the Wetherspoon’s
for the rest of the night,
works even better if they get in a fight.
With their dog on a string,
hat’s probably nicked,
outside the bus station, begging on sticks,
like the world’s cheapest tricks.
Used to be good for a night on the town,
now the streets are starting to
drown
in dross and
distress,
but if you look at their frown, they
couldn’t care less
about your time.
Time to make tracks and drive,
its ‘kicking out’ soon and they’ll
eat you alive.

Well of course, Your Honour, I can explain,
why I urinated on the train.
You see the first toilet appeared to be locked,
and the other one of course was blocked.
Is it wrong? You could dispute,
Do you expect ‘Moi’ to ruin an Armani suit?
Clearly men of our position,
can appreciate my pleas of contrition?
What’s that you say?  Inebriated?
A glass or two, it should be stated -
for the record, which should also note,
the tear in the sleeve of my cashmere coat,
caused by the vandals that restrained,
as I was wrongly cuffed and detained.
As a chap of substance before the court,
perhaps my innocence could be bought?
No, no, not a bribe of course,
more a donation of remorse.
It’s not as if the jury gives a ****,
they obviously don’t realise who I am.
It is clearly just the wrong decision,
to send a man of breeding to a prison.
A witness says that I was ******?
And that I tried to stand up but missed?
What slanderous lies of lesser classes,
perhaps I’d had three or four healthy glasses.
And reports of singing and standing on my seat,
are fabricated, nonsense and incomplete.
Cameras saw me strike the face -
of a man, with my leather briefcase?
Perhaps at this stage I should refrain,
and allow you to address this stain -
on my character which I’m sure you agree,
is beneath the contempt of someone like me.
Surely you can’t have confirmed my guilt?
What about the reputation I’ve built?
Before they take me, please pray tell,
will there be a servant in my cell?