A Void in Heywood

 

 

            Thirty years on in Monkey

Town and the kids are

Still selling toys in jumble

Sales,

            A darned hill of clowns

To keep the confederacy smiling,

     Lying,

Giggling like lunatics at each

And every birthday they

Get a second handed spiderman.

 

            These cherubs with their

Scabby knees and smitten flees –

This innocence with which they

Bleed turns Mom and Dad to

Steal and rob in order to appease.

 

            To keep their young the

Happiest despite the stew and

Chicken nuggets – a luxury if

‘you be good’,

Plastic cheaply manufactured

Food

            Chips and fish fingers,

Greased up from Andy’s and

Wipe your dirty handys before you

Sit and watch the tweenies.

 

            The TV talks of factories

For six year olds – a conditioning

Whilst they’re growing up,

     Parked three feet from

Logey Baird – not even three

Feet tall, then warehouses take

Names before they leave the ward,

(or wards for future indexed souls).

 

            Frustration! No pause for

Thought in Monkey Town – no

Escape for tiny clowns and you wonder

Why when seventeen – acid rocks

They smoke the splee, don’t

Give a fekk for all that life

Can bring when all it has brought

Is misery,

            No escape for Darnhills

Clowns – their comedy?

 

            Believing they can

Make the grade after years

The schools have dumbed them

Down – this confederacy;

            Selling lies in jumble sales,

Selling lives for tradition???

            “Quaint” they’ll say

In Government whilst sniggering

Behind your back,

            At northern souls,

In Poverty.

 

Michael J Waite 28^th October 2006 0159hrs.