That man that could sing - from Eastenders - you know!

You bet in William Hill's Bookery
that he has Italian Blood
in measures greater than
one quarter. Odds 7 to 2.

They make it and you've just put your last twenty on the line.

Disappointed, by the location and the service,
You visit the Coop next door, where, polite
if nothing else but still frightening to the cashier
(Who, by some strange felony of humour,

you refer to as: 'Cashier' - ) you steal a bottle of
Jamesons. 'Those were the days', I imagine
you might be thinking, as you walk - don't run -
past the Zebra crossing (no cheap gags tonight)

and into the country's one and only dog
with an asbo and her owner...

(yes, she is a lady)

With only a little time to run before they can stop presenting themselves
and all the other encumberances that ensue - they will not play with you.

 It's been said, you bought shoes for bare-foot children you saw in the street,
William Hill is offering odds at something wider on this and the Coop will prosecute.

In better days, you were making a profit from the televisions' pre-occupation
with 'junk' - or 'pre-owned mid twentieth century goods' depending on your predilection

but you knew this was all shit - and why...

You end.