The graffiti cried and argued Illegitimate anger

It echoed my own, in a way, akin to judgement

The scattering pages of the Sunday Colour supplements

Stories of Mr Madonna Rattle down the tracks.

The same destination

Trivialities abounded

Where I am sane and justified

The old man speaks of Puritanism

Whilst he speaks he smokes and quotes from a red top rag

Put he and his kind in the gutter

Swirl and swill

Let them lie there in the world’s abortion, the earth’s ablution.

Let them be a puritan

They become pollution.

Are the homeless really hopeless?

Are the tramps perhaps the trumps? (Donald in disguise?)

Are the racists simply rationalists?

And does anybody care?

Is the ozone just a don’t know zone?

Is there anybody out there?

Are the piss stinking streets someone’s bedtime sheets?

Oh yes I think so!