In Catgut by the harbor’s edge
Where rot is deep and the rats many,
Where houses lean like drunken cronies
Fallen into a sleep together –
There isn’t one you’d have for a mother –
You can live for half a penny.

There’s even niceties, a few.
Seperate alleys for kissing and pissing,
One each side of The Bucket of Blood
And fish in boxes and baskets and pails
And moonlight skittering over the scales –
That’s where I’ll be, if I’m missing

©2003, pomme press