Treasure Island

Steven Harris


A Summers Estate.


When the summer sun is in the sky
and a cool breeze brushes by the trees
all the uglies come out and play
on park benches drinking cheap cider and smoking crappy fags
littering empty brown bottles all across the park
empty cigarette packets all over the grass
listening off a phone to underground hip hop
throwing up unreconisable signs with their hands
hoods up and covering their faces pretending not to care
people all speed up when walking by them
their eyes never meeting, never touching
shouting at police cars as they drive by
all have been in the back of one atleast once in there time.

Summers day on an old english estate
the youth of today fill the parks
neither one of them have a care in the world
neither one of them have a future ahead
in and out of hand cuffs everyweek
head coverd and hands around a cheap brown bottle
neither one of them care about where there going
no place for them in this world
other then cheap drink, cheap fags and a park bench.

Summers night is now arriving
and then a fight will sprew out into the streets
drunk on the crappy bottle and all looking to score
all looking for the next car window to smash
or looking for the next dealer hidden behind a tree with some stash
no hope for the future so their ending it here
on a park bench in the summer
littering the freshly cut grass with the bottles and fags
drunk or stoned with a care in the world
no future of for the youth of a summer estate
no end in site for the teenagers of today
cheap booze, cheap fags and a hip hop album
all on a park bench in the summer sun and the cool nights.

Submitted: Monday, May 13, 2013
Edited: Friday, September 13, 2013

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