My neighbourhood
hungry pigeons,
small supermarket,
Turkish kebab shop.

People with faces
of a lonely ghosts,
dull cars, loud airplanes
bugging their own noise.

Fake beggars, cafe
full of strangers' talk,
grey skies above me,
ex-paradise lost.

My neighbourhood,
weekend market's stalls,
park, always empty,
closed down gospell hall.

My new neighbour depression,
lives in a house rotting in the ground,
scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered,
with garden flowers withering away,
trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind.
Ever since he moved in a storm cloud
hangs low over the neighbourhood,
soaking my lawn and treading on my grass.
My neighbour depression
throws heavy stones to ***** my windows,
leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox,
leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate.
My neighbour depression
takes advantage of my protection of thin walls,
and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball,
slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room
appear darker and bigger.
My neighbour depression
walks down the street like a black hole,
******* out all the sound around him.
And my neighbour depression
is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.

I noticed blackberries in my hedge
juicy, ripe and ready for picking 'em
ran for something to put 'em in
don't want anyone else nicking 'em

Washed 'em, rinsed 'em, put 'em in a bag
had a notion to freeze 'em
sealed 'em in a freezer bag
labelled 'em and dated 'em

When my mam next makes a pie
she'll have 'em then defrost 'em
no one makes blackberry pie as good as my mam
when she bakes 'em, she should sell 'em

We sloppily drop our "th's" round our way
if you see other poets, don't tell 'em

They're all going to Festwich!
a festival in Prestwich
some bands are rather kitsch
with anticipation the air is rich

Half a mile from my abode
it's only down the road
rock bands set to explode

The chopper's in the sky
fireworks set to fly
i'm not going, why?

It was sold out months ago
my reactions were too slow
I'm now feeling the blow

They're walking past my window
dressed down with a place to go
to a rock n roll tribute show

Rock chicks, metal heads and loons
bands playing my favourite tunes
sporting Led Zep's runes

It's happening all so near
I need something to bring me cheer
I'm crying into my beer

They're all going to Festwich!
I'm going to build my own mosh pit
in my garden where i sit
where i'll stay 'til it's moonlit

It wasn't the heartbreak, no.
It wasn't the anxiety or lack of motivation.
It wasn't the drugs that killed him.

I think that he simply got tired
Of all those lined up houses
In his neighbourhood.


F.Z.**N