We sat an’ didn’t like the sweetcorn,
nor the forks, the moon had no quarrel.

The sun had no bite with the wallpaper.
Black, Black the salted air drifted

The colour scented with the taste
of chip’s n’ vinegar

I'm in the gutter, skinny and pale
God bless me with a poetry sale
got lots of words but got no food
somethin to eat would improve my mood
words could be my bread and butter
i can type them all , without a st stutter
someone send a cheque to me
and put my poetry on tv
21st century pam eyres
I really hope that someone cares
let the poetry spill from my lips
as I'm dreamin oven chips

(c) p skez and ms rigs 07/10/2014