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

Photo Credit: “Creekside at Night” – Jeremy Sams

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