MulletProofPoet

via the pylon mascots and manky roads

homes without names and lost post codes

from the reek of skunk and Asda beans

strides the burger king and his bedsit queen

star crossed lovers in track suit tops

their romance born at the corner shop

a valentine written on an old scratch card

stolen flowers from a posh house yard

their love spins round like kebab house meat

wrapped in the moonlight and dying streets

till its consummated in the underpass

amongst the wet chip wrappers and broken glass

they emerge embarrassed, wasted and sweaty

to shower in the headlights and raindrop confetti

Raised on sherry and Thunderbird
in the single malt Disney World
a mother’s ruined Mr Hyde
brandy soaked and fortified
with a BA honours in bargain booze
on an inter Stella Artois cruise
where breakfast is an Anadin
coffee and a taste of gin

He offers his tequila prayers
coughs up blood the will to care
sends regards to Bloody Mary
Jim Beam Jesus, getting leery
he’ll turn your water into wine
whisky chaser or a pint
and hark the homeless angels sing
to the gory Bourbon King

Bed time filthy sleeping bags
reeking dreams of ale and fags
in lullabies of empty cans
offy bags and unmade plans
never lands and cardboard towns
spirits spilled and dented crowns
ragged royal of the alleyway
ruined regent come what may

Raised on sherry and Thunderbird
in the single malt Disney World
a mother’s ruined Mr Hyde
brandy soaked and fortified
with a BA honours in bargain booze
on an inter Stella Artois cruise
out of touch and out his face
another hopeless, hopeless case

A Dark Knight based in Forest Fields
drives a knackered Batmobile
a caped crusader just thirteen
left black and blue in Hyson Green
And Wonder Woman’s fixed abode
is a doorway up on Mansfield Road
track marks under satin tights
to wrecked for fighting for your rights

Flash, the fastest lad alive
is seen at every club and dive
From Sneinton to the Forest ground
TWOCing at the speed of sound
A man of steel and fake gold chains
spots Superman on Friar Lane
with Reeboks and a mate called Wayne
and pregnant teenage Lois Lane

By TK Maxx and PC World
Sprawls Supermarket Supergirl
A bargain basement heroine
Kebab juice dribbling down her chin
And Aquaman drips on the path
and mourns the ghost of Noel street Baths    
longs for dreams Atlantis sent
but shivers by the stinking Trent

Hawkman wears a Primark smile
and gets drunk superhero style
a fucked up feathered asbo youth
who shits upon the town hall roof
Green Lanterns favourite power ring
gets nicked outside the Burger King
and as he’s questioned by the police
its flogged outside the Golden Fleece

And this child unfriendly comic strip
with its tales of fights and mouldy chips
is drained of its four colour charm
a tattoo on a junkie’s arm
so shine your signal in the sky
and pray for these young superguys
all kryptonite and KFC
The Galleries of Justice League.

I dreamed I was with Arthur Seaton last night
 watched him swagger down streets cast in black and white
in Saturday suit, all hard bastard pretty
wondering what became of his Sunday morning city
Showing two fingers at speeding cars
kicking in windows of Yates’ wine bar
searching for factories that just weren’t there
hosed away as fast as the vomit in the square

Demolished and built on like the back to backs
he wondered why history’d given him the sack
how was he so young, yet broken and old?
burned by today, chilled by 50’s cold
between fights and ale and fat arse slander
no good times left just propaganda
I screamed ‘Alan Sillitoe’s dead’ – he looked at me then spat.
‘Alan Sillitoe?’ he said ‘Who the fuck is that?’

It’s only four wheels
and a roof
a vehicle and not the truth
you can’t caress an oil stain
or fall in love with a traffic lane,
or snog a sump or an MOT,
or snuggle with a parking fee

A glove compartment holds no cheer
you can’t laugh, with knackered gears
You’ll never see a Vauxhall smile
in a million, million, million miles
a car won’t give you what you need
a car will bring you to your knees

A car is money and petrol smell
combustion engine motor hell
Traffic jamming dents and prangs
insurance cons and joy ride gangs
a car might get you there, real quick

but a car cannot extend your dick

He takes on the crowd in a pincer attack

The country boy bleeds and he bleeds black

Wears his coat, like a dark brushed skin

Whip smart, piece of art, vampire thin

Tongue that cuts like a razorblade

A nuclear bomb in wraparound shades

With a line in violence and winkle pickers

Powder pills and southern liquor

Brillcreamed quiff and boot lace ties

With no reason to die or apologise.

No reason for reasons just the truth in his eyes

Shit kicker grin with his heart in the skies

Slick and unashamed dangerous to love

Devil with a six string sent from above

A ruinous and beautiful Hymn about to crash

The gallows gospel poet ’Hello I’m Johnny Cash’

You Tube Youth is porn connoisseur

a Microsoft in the head careless voyeur

a lap top lap dog online monkey

pixelated ponce of an X Box junkie

another of the slap happy lost generation

a foul mouthed member of the chat room congregation

You Tube Youth never goes to school

don’t need a teacher to tell him he’s a fool

a text book, Face book, misery

knows that it’s as easy as MP3

A bug-eyed Buddha, old at ten

Preaching through the Ethernet electronic Zen

You Tube Youth has the world in his paws

a grubby Casanova: My Space or Yours?

doesn’t take kindly to the world outside

the download his mistress, a virtual bride

You Tube Youth has forgotten how to speak

types his conversations – he’s a proper little geek

You Tube Youth is lost and found

a Cyberman version of something profound

a throwaway footnote over in seconds

till he goes on the blink when reality beckons

a no shit Sherlock brain imploder

his instant message epitaph, reads Game Over