Brighton Rock, by Mark Harrison

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.'

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