Tuesday, 23 August 2016

poetry 2016 / 093

Stubbs Road

An escape
from the cold and damp
and the three-bar gas fire
we couldn't afford to light.
Beer from the gallery;
home made wine,
bathroom fermented puccine.
We tried drying banana skins
he having read somewhere
they were a narcotic but
the resultant stench from the oven
brought down the wrath on the tenancy holder
convinced we'd get thrown out
of the ratty little shithole we lived in.
Hydrangea florets, nutmeg;
cannabis when we could afford it
(it was easy to procure)
resin, leb, black, double-zero,
skag, skunk, ganja, weed.
The names were a catechism to poverty
the less you could afford
the more you needed it.
Scrounging canvas from the polytechnic bins,
paint from the B&Q skips
we could manage food
from the back of Marks and Sparks
(on Saturdays we ate like royalty)
but narcotics never got thrown away
and after seeing Brian on Evo-Stick
brown paper bags were out.

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