I
Lads Lads Lads

Some lads walk out of Ladblokes,
hit the pub and take their familiar fixtures
under the painted faces of dead old men,
away from the paling sun.
Jonno, the leader.
Burger, the bookkeeper,
and the others: Gibbo, Whitey, etc.
You'll know them by their names.

Sometimes the meaning of it all melts away
like a crisp packet,
folded, a tight, oiled triangle, lit by a cheap lighter,
giving up a man-made green spirit —
quickly disappearing —
in a forlorn, forgotten ashtray
in a town that, equally,
no-one cares about.