The Sexed-up Conman

Booming and booming in the narrowing gap,
The freighter cannot hear the fruiterer;
Things occur; the centre moves away;
Pure cranberry is juiced out in the Weald,
The blue-rinsed bride is goosed, and anyway
The cemeteries of Inverness are brown;
The pissed leak in the kitchen, while the wurst
Is filled with pulverised intestine bits.
Shortly some renovation will be planned;
Sadly the so-called camping will be banned.
The Social Climbing! Hardy has these weird spouts
When a faster make from Spitalfields Market
Travels by boat: somewhere alongside a slip-road
A sheikh with lycra booties and the hood of a monk,
A gauze blue and odourless as a snail,
Is mowing its sloped chives, whitebait, halibut,
Raw chilblains on the indigo Dover beach.
The duchess drinks again; but no-one minds
That thirsty secretaries are stoned in Slough
With waxy nightwear and a rotting ladle,
And Waitrose beef, its sell-by date torn off,
Coaches towards Birmingham to be bored.
John Gibbens
Illustration Mike Lesser

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