Estate-rough,
REAL rough,
And I mean rough -
A scraggly briar by the roadside:
This is an estate that throws them fertile in the air,
Watches them land,
Like popcorn in a pan hurled out of their hot home.
Something inside must tell them to attempt escape,
But half of them fall back in,
Missing family and easy, lowest-common denominator normality -
Oh, rough!
This fishwife tears her tongue out and beats it against your wall just to get in,
Brazen in the cadging of fags,
Bringing up two children like semi-feral wolves
Hunting through your clothes and drawers -
Oh, rough!
Best mates with everyone instantly,
No parenting skills,
Pass the blame and pass the buck,
She’ll give permission to her children to stone your windows
If you don’t bend her way
And pretend to give a f***.
Estate Mum
This is a verse of the poem "As I walked home". Buy the book here
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