The Queen’s Head hanged, another story from the Death House

Necks stretched and they are gone –

 

Jenny Wren farts in the face of the seagull scrambling

To gobble her up

 

Those who will steal your food for thought, that parasitic breath

Hung out to dry, to eaten in an afterthought, by the seagulls

 

It was still worth the joy, the hope and ways of love

But as the wind started, the bus stuttered in a short tempter

Across the road raging war against the seasons

 

Letters hidden but not forgotten

Seagull slim the girls mock the fat

Man rowing who never grows old

Bitter sad male experience

In despair he smiles

 

Seagulls scream as the chair is kicked away

He sits at the corner table, nursing his night-black pint

Oh for some relief from the darkness.