Escape From The Planet Of The Apes
Midnight plus fifteen, the streets come alive,
Spilling tattooed mobs, teeming motion-blurred
From the bars, karate and kung-fu moves in car parks
And upon telephone kiosk phone books.
Kebabs stinking of extra onion, chilli and garlic sauce,
Soaking up beer and chasers, churning innards;
Chinese takeaway cartons slung in gutters,
Spraying noodles and rice with random artistry.
Spiralling fumes of vindaloo, popadums and naan
Swirl, snake, samba under neon rain;
CCTV super models, skirts no more than belts
Hiked under hips, distended abdomens drooping with gravity.
Navels pierced, studded, impaled with fake silver,
Flesh faintly turning green-tinged;
The high heeled stagger continues at ankle-breaking
Precariousness; teetering and stumbling, acrobatically drunk.
Swimming heads reject the motion sickness,
And vomit starts to rise, disgorged, spattering the wet paving
With rainbows of liquid colour abstraction,
Trickled with a gleeful pale amber stress incontinent stream.
It’s easy for a casual observer to plead for escape from
This planet of the apes, but have a heart – they’re young,
Free and doomed beyond all relative conception.
Why not be cool, have fun?
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2006
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