WITH JACK COMMON'S SON PETER IN NEWCASTLE

WITH JACK COMMON'S SON PETER IN NEWCASTLE

15.1.11

IN THE SPANKING ROGER, MILES PLATTING, MANCHESTER

















This must be
the lowest hour
of the low.
I am
wet through in the dog-end gutter
of a whiplashed Manchester,
where the rain
bolts down
and the darkness
simply soaks you
to the guts of your soul.
I am
a lost boy,
drenched
from the black Pennines;
a stranger drinking
a glass of gloom
with Thatcher’s underclass.
Here, in the Spanking Roger,
Miles Platting,
they are all
making a racket,
working the rotting
system.
You can get
touched up
for a tanner
or spanked,
wanked
and rogered
for a bob.
It’s all in a sodden carrier bag,
a greasy spoon;
all in
a backstreet cruise,
a sopping blow job,
a blob
for a raindrop:
this Manchester-wet
dream.



KEITH ARMSTRONG

the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur