Drawn in by dancing Palace sprites,
That buzz with delight by starless night.
They survey a myriad of bumbling drunks
Who down their ale and stumble from clubs.
They sway, crisscrossing the rivers of spray
That slither beneath Mancunian Way.
They sail beneath bold rattling tracks,
the freight nymph dances with a flash
sprinting the vine of cable thread
that dissects the night sky overhead.
Gluts of ciggie butts lie in the gutters,
Drunkards splutter on Topshop’s shutter.
Hairy fairies getting quite contrary
Knocking back shots, the surly get lairy.
Chants and screams vociferously erupt
And ricochet through red brick viaducts.
Stagger through blaggers veiled in thicket,
“Ay ar mate, dya need a ticket?”
No response, bus coughs n takes its leave
As drunks heave and weave into the urban eve.
0 comments:
Post a Comment