Tuesday, 24 November 2009


A sneer across my face.
We travel before the successful.
We the African princes come toilet cleaners,
we the tired Polish whores,
we the Indian lawyers to be security guards,
we the disgruntled English forced out of jobs once secure.
All sad,all quiet,all together knackered,all humbled.
One day we'll be successful.
A big fuck you to a failed schooling 2 decades before.
Today,tortured spine,broken and worn.
Spent and washed up,
in father's eyes a failure.
Unmarried,skint bitter.

We ride these early mornings.

One day i'll photgraph the tired at my glorious leisure.
Turning them into art for the successful.
One day a bacon sandwich won't seem like a luxury,
Starbucks an irresponsible indulgence.
And i'll return to white sheets and clean carpets.
Return successful to my palace,
give a shit
and flick crumbs on the floor.

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