sunday afternoon innit
a hungover nowhere
mind in the biscuit tin
drive down southend pool hall
sky grey as carpark cement
conversations a heavy cloud
that wont rain will it
dust floats in pool halls green gloom
there is no time
down backstairs a nightclub waits for dark
( or a darkclub
waits for night )
soft drinks and cigarettes innit
i am in a reformed bubble
feel like spam dont i
last nights dried onto my jeans
last nights memories are grainy
theyre a bad fit
( i remember -
childhood beach days
kodachrome colours
wet tiles on toilet floor
abrasive sand in short socks
that sharp band of stones before the surf
a fish and chip restaurant after
near a wall falling down )
hit the balls with the stick
tie crisp bags into bows
dont ever win do i
later fish and chips takeout
whisky and beer
sit in
tv on innit
the words rain
its all softer now
dusk allows a vibe dont it
getting fucked up early doors
tomorrow is monday you see
and we have to pretend dont we
to give the week a chance
from yell.com
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