The Neighbourhood Poem by GRANT FRASER

I tried to stop
them,
the kids
from across
the street,

filling up bucket
after bucket,

from behind our bins,
then walking off,
with the pump still
pumping,
oozing mad!
out all
over the place,

what you saying,
old boy....

'it's not theirs
to play with...',

then all
these teenage girls
with fake coloured
hair and boys t-shirts,
appeared at bedroom
windows,
lots of them...
an army!

frustrated like
their mums,
who don't have men
around...

I walked back in,
they were still
shouting things,

showing off! ,

even their mums
were showing off,

how odd the world
has become...

they're not the kind
I grew up with,

my mum would have
twisted my ear back
for anything like that,
and my father would've
booted my backside,

when I got inside
they were
laughing and hooting,

pushing our communal
bin out onto the middle
of the road,

I cooked my chops,
tried to watch an old
film on telly,

later on, it went all
quiet,
they've gone
to bed,

till the next time...