A TRILOGY OF OBSERVATIONS ON LIFE IN 21st CENTURY BRITAIN.
INNER CITY STREET
THE LOST BOY
The Good Time Girls
They totter by, showing thigh, on heels too high
but really don’t care.
Strapless bags, packets of fags, new glad rags,
starting early doors.
Bright red lips, swinging hips, bags of chips
they’re on their way.
They love to dance, take a chance, grab romance,
at least for tonight.
Advert drink, glasses chink, the seductive wink
behind fallen fringe.
Stroking their hair, it’s just a dare, so they don’t care
what they do.
They always say, you never pay, until break of day
if you can pull.
Morning after dread, a strangers bed, nothing’s said
to the good time girls.