Fag gaspers lurk at the entrance bin,
security scanned each time they come in.
Detector gate wand alert!
Give up your stuff, aggro-avert.
Pull out that key from inside pocket
beeps repeat, it’s not the wallet,
it’s mi’ grandson’s mini Star Wars rocket!
Shifty serial car-lifter scally,
sporting borrowed Bugs Bunny tie
screws boozed sleep from squinted eyes.
Mithered Dad tries to look calm
hand on shoulder, comforting palm.
Anxious silence paralyses
nerve tinted air in the lift.
Invisible automaton hostess-
as the lad with the frown
prepares to go down.
Enter the client crusading Adams…
Dusty, brandy-snap curled,
pin-striped ‘Top Men’,
Plea pleading Eves…
Shiny faced, oily shoed,
Await barrister battle
judged before benched Gods.
Cloaks waft in their wake
as they strut through
twitchy-arsed populus’d reception,
in front of hurried, harassed juniors,
weighed down with piles of files,
full of truths and lies.
Made ready to twist and tarnish
confront and convince
everyman jurors on payee’s behalf.
Badged up Social Worker
and Ms Briefcase, tight bun, flat bum,
emerge cooing from Court Number One.
Tinkle their bosses to crow
about the case just won…
an infant son removed from suspect home
while a heartbroken parent’s mothering
is shrewdly viewed
she’s screwed with a harsh toothcomb.
Accused poor mater crutch-walks out
on sniffling sister’s arm.
Inside the Family Court,
surly, string-pulling spouse
dagger stares at
quivering abused mum.
Dominated doll can’t make black-eyed head
nor blue bruised tail
of a statement about how
her marriage failed.
All she sees…
cemented, part demented
Peers peering down upturned noses.
Stuck on the stand,
God’s book in hand,
grilled by a malevolent magpie,
she starts to cook and fry,
wishing the time would hurry by…
and swallow her
to an island with her kids…
away from the ‘man’
who closed her lids.
Listed for ten she’s called back at three,
a piece of paper says she’s free.
Out the back under lock and key
Judges’ lush limo’s park buck-shee.
Last gavel hammers down at
half past four,
another day of English Law.
G4 unhappy bus awaits
the downward trenders…
to the palace
of drug Lords and benders.
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.