Try not to stare

At the end of the street where the three pathways meet who knows where your feet will travel? \ past the strip clubs and whores, drunken bullies and bores, just don’t stare as their stories unravel \ there’s perverts and nonces, and deviants and ponces who’d rival the vile Jimmy Savile \ there’s clip joints and boozers, and gamblers, and losers, and hustlers and waste-yer-time rabble \\ 

keep your eyes dead ahead, and your thoughts in your head as they paint the town red where you travel \ on bad concrete tracks, over potholes and cracks having sheer heart attacks in the gravel \ you could choke in the mud of this bad neighbourhood, you could drown in the blood of the battle \ no one would care, you’d be left lying there in a bright neon glare that will dazzle \ near the ill-repute clubs and the alcohol hubs and the noisy hubbub of the razzle \ there's no semblance of law, there’s no order at all, there’s no fall of a magistrate’s gavel \\ 

move along while you dare but please don’t stop and stare at the urban despair in the city \ make no contact with eyes, and disguise your surprise because most will despise any pity \ put aside your alarm and disarm with your charm or you’ll come to some harm in the city \ the district is seedy, but the people are needy, stay away from their greedy ferocity \\ 

Steve Wheeler © 16 January, 2021

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