Saturday, 10 July 2010
Drive By Dreams & Seaside Themes:
A Poem About The Great British Seaside
I pulled into a ravaged street
strewn with sacks of littered dreams
and policemen lay so fast asleep
as traffic flowed past hooded thieves.
The rays burned hard on suntanned arm
that hung outside my limousine
and girls would saunter down the path
in skirts that length was gauged obscene.
My shades were dark, I looked the part
I cranked the sound of heavy beats
and summer sun would make me sweat
as I cruised into another street.
And people stopped, I did not care
I pushed the limo in spite of their
glares that strained a disbelief
I shaped my hand and motioned grief.
They scurried past , I laughed aloud
and turned the limo on the crowd.
But now I cruised the boulevard
its palm decked lines of disregard.
The beats that pumped as people stared
that shook the car and buzzed the air,
and women ran in jogging pants
with cheeks that squeezed beneath the hem.
I carried on down to where the slots
and lights would flash and bring them in.
I passed the rows of drunken sops
whose kids were left to run amok
and chase the sounds of grab machines
stuffing coins in plush filled dreams,
high on floss and candy rock
and sugar stains on summer frocks.
And tattooed man would cross the road
eyes on me he tried to goad
I squeezed the gas and edged on near
as bass was pumped his eyes showed fear.
And Whitney stood and smiled at me
her man was weak and I was king
but girls can come and usually go
the limo seats are where they show.
Fake Las Vegas bars and dreams
and seaside towns are hardened things
I push the limo further on
into the world where I belong
image courtesy creative commons flikr