Death of a Town

A town wheezes the last rites over its people through phlegm-ridden lungs and turgid cankers. Its blistered wounds are coated in the mud that lines its harbour and creeks. The loss of the dockyards was its lowest tide. Now, existing work taunts the town from the other side of the harbour, separated by low tides and disused ferries. As the town slides closer to its knees, the landlords willingly house the subsidised washouts. And gang fights marry into husband and wife fights, twisted around petty pride and sectarian bigotry. Leaving kids to run about half-stoned and roaring with cider, where the unpredictable waits around the corner. And rape happens behind the church, under God's careful watch, where worship of the needle leaves only emptied lives. And lost souls sleep under cardboard palaces. This is a town that wants them out, so that it can shut the doors, draw the blinds and start again.