Last Rites

This poem is not vivid-dream derived. It is based on things observed in our city centre some years ago. Little has changed since then, I think...

Here, attenuated cats

Snarl and spit at puny kids

Prancing on abandoned cars

By infested urban tips.

Here, skeletal buskers squat

And pluck clapped-out guitars.

Cadging funding for a fix

By disgorging singles bars.

Here, half-crazed itinerants

Lurch and grope at tired hags.

Trading fleshly vestiges

By distended dustbin bags.

There, concocting ministers

Betray that populace

By foisting fake elixirs

On terminal excess.