Atlantic Avenue

The urban nightmare has missed the last bus home.
It walks down Castle Street,
Dale Street and Moorfields
With a belly full of wind and a bone to pick.

Its cage has been rattled
By something out of order.
There's nothing down for it.
It's full of bottle with its back up.

This is no time to think of the cold Atlantic
Or Irish Sea,
The enduring tenements of oppression.
The urban nightmare has no history.
It's in your face. It steers you to an alley.

Ya got a light? They're going to kick your head in.


If you've any comments on his poems, K.M.Payne would be pleased to hear from you.