Unwholesome Lodgings
The opera-house, from half-past one
Until the daily bread,
Was thronged with those who longed to run
Behind the donkey's head
The snooker-hall, from ten past six
'til roosters crow at dawn,
Was wholly choked with walking sticks
At which we all would yawn
The abattoir at four o'clock
Until our labours ceased
Would single out a single man,
To massacre a beast.
The herring-dock, from ten 'til three
Until the ships set sail,
Would stink of smelt and kedgeree
And pottage made from kale.
The locksmith's hut, from eight 'till two,
Until all keys were cast
Would come alive with grinder's roar,
With peace quite dead at last.
| Contributors: | Roland, Stacy, TG, The Agent Apsley, Simon, |The Agent Apsley. |
| Poem finished: | 18th February 1998. |