Submitted by Barry Fentiman Hall
On a street that brooks no water
Once the home of some old author
Who remembered the forgotten
So they said
I wonder what he’d make of it
This washed up tosh of worn and sick
Still gathering for crumbs
Instead of bread
Would he tell their luckless stories
About the food banks and the debt?
And the search for orange labels
To get fed
Or would he come the voyeur
And do a docusoap for Channel 4
About shirkers never getting
Out of bed?
I like to think he wouldn’t
But all we really know
Is his words and salty tastes
Cos Charlie’s dead
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Photo Credit: “Creekside at Night” – Jeremy Sams