Runcible Spoon

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PHASES   OUT.

Part One - North London.

 

They’re cut and shut cars with phoney blue badges,

Rigged decks of cards with all aces high,

Greasy kebabs with chilli sauce oozing,

An alligator smile spitting crocodile tears.

 

They’re bloodsucking leeches whose blood you are sucking,

A self-harm buffet- eat as much as you like.

You’re selling milk of the poppy to these discordant faces,

Drinking most of your stock in a financial farce.

 

You’re haunting my sofa after more ghost-like vomiting,

Seeking cash subs to dive deeper and down,

A double headed coin with no charm remaining,

Your excess card maxed- all credit long gone.

 

Then homeless, in your car, outside like a spectre,

A final straw breaking our family chain.

No more am I oil on self-indulgent waters,

My heart cast iron around marshmallow fudge.

 

What next- death or dungeon down in North London?

Submerged by the scum you so readily embrace.

Or maybe some karma to take over rescue,

To spirit you away to a much cleaner place?