This poem by our member Mark Harrison, was selected for our Folio #74 published this year.
Brighton Rock Ten of the clock and in they shuffle Straight for the £1 boxes, they ain't subtle Bagged their coffees and give them a guzzle 'Do anything on that, mate?' Foggy drive down, energy sapping Carful of boxes ripe for unpacking Stag Weekend drunks outside overacting 'Do anything on that, mate?' Russian guy here with red flight case Grizzled old Mod, knife mark on face Rocker with daughter, you hope that's the case 'Do anything on that, mate?' Straggly grey hair and bulging guts Simpering kids and whimpering mutts Indulgent wives, their Sundays forsook 'Do anything on that, mate?' Mid-morning peak, they're all up for buying Rummaging through the vinyl, then sighing Pleading gaze at me, mortifying 'Do anything on that, mate?' Pink Floyd collection found in an attic Malicious ex-wife been sent apoplectic Bargain price purchase that made me ecstatic 'Do anything on that, mate?' Late in the day and my profits are down Fat leather wallets are thin on the ground Bloke sidles up, he seems pretty sound 'Do anything on the Floyd, mate?' 'A tenner and it's yours. Cheeky sod.'