You’ve wandered into this Best Pizza and Kebab Palace

apparently by accident

and now you’re surrounded

by a cackle of lads

throwing up casual bigotry in the air

as if it where confetti

made of all the ripped-up pages

of the  books they’d never read


So you sit down heavy

as the make-up of the girl sat in front of you

who appears to have caked over her sadness

with enough foundation to support a city with

but that city’s Atlantas – no more than a sinking myth


And you notice she’s perfumed as heavy as a foxglove

as if to try and ward off

the unwanted attention

of the type of men she’s spent a lifetime escaping

and failing

as they always flock back to her


like this one

but he’s no humming bird

more a one-tonne boiled ham

stuffed into a tight Primark jumper

who hovers too close over her

chirping out nasty compliments, like:

‘nice tits love’

reaking of the same aftershave

of overconfidence, fosters and threat

as his old man did


And yet

like any good Samaritan

you do nothing

just sit there

look ever-more intently at your meal

become increasingly suspicious of the species of the chicken wings you’re eating

as they where that cheap


But then you thinks it’s fitting

as everyone in here is just poultry dressed as a peacock

so say you’re free-range

when you’re battery fed

all your hand-me-down opinions

the odd paradoxes in your behaviour

the incongruity between your morals and what you do


You know you’re about as free in your actions

as the swallow nested on that dick-heads neck

who’s still continuing to p-p-peck at her discomfort

egged on by that pack of boys

as she sits there stunned


And you

my friend

continue to do nothing

as this is the place where apathy has won

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