Screech happily around the housing estate,
Tower blocks gleam in the sun
Like skeletons picked clean by ants.
Middle aged neighbour displays
His reddened paunch and discourses
Peasants swarm to the park,
They fear no bumblebee,
The view darts from tightjeaned buttocks
To the sweating pub wall,
Halted to explain by questioning faces,
Pigeons shit greasily on the pavement.
Crowds will not budge,
They stare in fascination at the egg market,
Little kid prances, will not be avoided, fuck off,
The sunlight is empty; you can see through it
To the early summers of detained hope.
Photophobic lawbreakers, miserable bastards,
Close the curtains and pray they don't send
Blinding cars to honk at you.