The Star and Garter.



Clean as a plate of fish and chips,
giro land on a market day trip,
the weather is better,
as if they're going to nail someone to a tree.

A lady with big gold plated ear rings,
waits for her daughter
and the new art gallery,
lies as a psychedelic beached whale.

Little streets of terraces,
are being slowly turned into big sheds,
roll ups gather round the Goose,
chatter in dialect.

We wait the coming of the snow.

~