Chinwag Pies
Chinwag Pies
A crowd gathers
Where the poor run wild,
Relentlessly taunting
An innocent child,
Scathing, scalding
Thieving eyes,
Scrimping, scraping
Chinwag pies.
Two a penny
For those that beg,
A clip round the ear
For your gammy leg,
Gossiping mothers
Cannot abide
The bastard child
Of the old dockside.
"Hello sailor,
Empty your pocket,
Got me shilling
For me golden locket?"
Ne're-do-well harlot,
Talk of the town,
Don't belong round here
In her five bob gown.
"What about me boy?
An urchin for sure,
Spare him the price
Of being poor"
Toss him a penny,
Toss him a pound,
We don't want his sort
Skulking around,
Shove him this way,
Shove him that,
Shove him in a coffin
With his begging hat.
The crowd disperses
Back to their lives
Of hen pecked husbands
And drunken wives.
Suburban gardens,
Plastic flowers,
Hair in curlers,
Nattering for hours,
Over the fence
Spinning their lies
With folded arms
And chinwag pies.
Copyright © Robert Horton | Year Posted 2015
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