I travelled through suburbia languid
On tip tip tip toes
To preserve uneasy quiet
Of watching fishnet windows
Guarded by creaking bones
In charity shops clothes
. (Better wash the dead off)
. (Before you wear them)
Armoured in
Scratching sweaters armed with
Down-the-nose glances
Disapproving coughs
Disgusted words whispered through
Whatever teeth
Remain for spite to
Whistle through
Face covered
I ducked and weaved
Through flinty stares
Icy glares
Launched from domestic strongholds
Through thick-rimmed bifocal scopes
At hoods and boards and cigarettes
Targeted between meticulously tidy topiary
Over trimmed lawns
Landing with laser accuracy
Shame inducing
. (what are their kind doing round here)
. (this is a nice, quiet neighbourhood)
. Someones Aunt sputters in to the ear of anyone
. Who’ll listen to her tirade
. Served hot and garnished with expensive shortbread
. (Waitrose darling, all butter and just divine)
I turned the corner
Carried on to town
Heard the hostile suburbs
Ripple with the chagrin of my passing
. Can’t wait to go back through tomorrow
. Make them uncomfortable do I?
. Fuck ‘em.
patrickpinkwriting 