Skipped

I skip along these scummy streets
Scuff the needles with my Tough girl Doc Martens
Pass the burnt-out Vauxhall Zafira
I’ve lived here a year, I think I’m starting
To blend in with the natives
I’ve perfected the ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare
I walk past the gangs of teens
and put on the act that I don’t care
(and wear my nonchalant face)

I’m used to the tab ends and smidgens of weed
I find in the communal lobby when I’m on my way out
Coke snorting tubes littering the stairwell
Kids smoking joints when the police aren’t about
My son sees the signs and knows all the vocab
I’m trying to tell him that drugs can be lethal
He wanted to know where the dealers live
I tell him that these people are dodgy, be careful
We don’t want our heads kicking in!

I walk the streets taking in the deprivation
when at my feet I find a huge bag of weed
I wonder if a drug runner has dropped it by accident
I consider its value, my bank balance it could feed
I have visions of piles of black-market cash
And takeaways unlimited, new clothes and hairdos
But if the druggies found out I’d purloined their stash
I think of my body splashed over the news
And I get paranoid that some dodgy geezer
is watching me, waiting to kick my head in
So I leave the package where I left it
And let someone else partake in their sin

And I walk along the scummy street
Til I see my safe little council flat
and I think about the stash of dope
and wonder what kind of stupid twat
would drop it
Psychedelic lost property!

©2020 Sarah Drury

Hard Boys

The other night, a big gang of lads were hanging about outside my flats, causing absolute mayhem. Obviously off their heads on drugs and booze, they were shouting and just being crazy. I must admit I was scared, and it triggered a bad anxiety and OCD attack. I ended up going to bed and trying to drown out the noise! Here’s a poem I wrote…

Big boys
Hard boys
Loud boys
Lost boys
Riding the manic high
of your coke
of your dope
of your speed
of your blow
of your weed
I don’t care what you call it
but it makes monsters of your mind
Birthing obnoxious rowdy rebellion
Pissing off the neighbourhood
Like we don’t need sleep
and we haven’t got kids
and we don’t have anxiety disorders

And oh, I was living on my last nerve
Heart all exposed and wrapped in disquietude
Butterflies feasting on my gastrological angst
Head establishing a terrorist situation
Mind lost in OCD
And OCD is telling me
They’re going to get me
They’re going to find me
They’re going to rape me
This won’t end well

Big boys
Hard boys
Loud boys
Lost boys
Probably just having your laughs
And being rebellious teens
And chasing escapism from
Your lives of mundanity and tedium
Bit of coke
Bit of dope
Bit of speed
Bit of blow
Bit of weed
Sorted

Why my anxiety consigns me to Hell
I don’t understand
Threatened by a good time boy bunch
Your laughs slicing my psyche
like feel good knives
with blades sharpened in acid
Maybe I lost my inner child
Maybe she got lost in a maelstrom
of scared and fearful and afraid
The mind knows how
to keep me a prisoner
The mind knows
I lost my childhood

©2020 Sarah Drury

Flogging

This was inspired by my old neighbour who used to sell her wares on street corners.

WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

Red hair blazing
Like a fuck me beacon
A barber’s pole but throbbing in male pants
Face a dot to dot of drug induced acne
Parading your heroin chic
Decency don’t mean shit

You never keep your legs shut
Self employment makes it rather draughty
And as a small business you should
Protect your assets
But you can’t get insurance
On gynaecology

Hanging around on seedy corners
Perverts cruising, risking a bruising
Chancing chancers
You don’t know, you don’t know
Flogging your fanny today
Digging your grave when the sun
Mourns your demise
And the dealers
Mourn their suicide pockets

A fuck for the addiction of heroin culture
Shame when your fanny is a currency
You pay in dirty needles
And white powder lines of escapism
For a few moments you’re out of here
Shooting up in Nirvana
Profits in your greedy veins
Coke up your wannabe Beyonce nose

I wish I could help
And the churches say that
No one is beyond redemption
But you’re lost to the devil now
You sold your soul for a moment of heaven
And found your sanctity
In the arms of an addictive addiction
Bride of a heroin fix

©2020 Sarah Drury

Queens of Lunacy

Six twenty a.m.
Meds not kicked in
Yet
Another psychosis
Again?
I hear the birds
Free bitches
Tunes as though
Life has no locks
No dirty ditches
To dump
The head fucked
In

Like us
Queens of lunacy
Boasting our
Lithium crowns
Regal but
On a different
Frequency
Time for pill pop
Want the fucking
Crazy shit to stop
The clock
Ticks
Out of time

Psycho mum
Drag my bones
Bust my butt
Necking my meds
Like a Valium slut
Popping the pills
To get free entry
To a sanity club
Crazy has
A price tag
I can’t afford
Ring a roses
We all stay mad

I’m fucked

©2020 Sarah Drury

From Your Lips Young Mum

New poem…’From Your Lips Young Mum’

WARNING: explicit language

From your lips young mum

My universal credit comes today
A takeaway from the Chinese
Fake Adidas trainers
Blow some money on Primark tat
A bit of this, a bit of that
A bit of baccy, a bit of blow
Nappies for the wee ‘un
The tenner I owe Pat
Fill the cupboards
tins and convenience food
Money’s gone
That will be that
And can you see this bruise on my arm
My bloke went ballistic
Battered me black and blue
But I love him
and know deep down he meant me no harm
We had a good shag to make up
Hide the bruises
There’s no need for alarm
And did you see that slag Becky
Love bites on her neck
Think she’s shagging that drug dealer
The one with the Merc who owns that discotheque
Susie Walker
Five kids with five different dads
Flogging her fanny
Flaunting her tits round the back of the pub
for a bit of a grope with the lads.
Missed my soaps last night
Hey, what happened in Corrie?
Was there any scandal
Me and Tyson were having a fight
He smashed the TV then smashed my jaw
The kids came down
Screaming Mummy Mummy
So he kicked the kitchen door
Then fucked off
And I cried some more
And I feel broken
But I know he loves me really
And I’ll hold on to him dearly
And he’ll bring me chocolates and flowers in the morning.
Managed to nick some make up from Boots today
Will flog it round the estate
Should buy some blow
Should keep us ay okay
Barry brought some dodgy chicken
Off the back of a lorry
But three for a fiver
Dinner for three days
And the kids won’t be sorry
Did you see that Jason
From the flats?
Dating that fifteen year old
What a pervy twat
Should be locked up
What are her parents thinking?
They don’t really give a shit
They’re too busy out drinking
Tyson’ll be home in a few minutes
Better go back home
He’ll be on the phone
Checking I’m not tongue wagging
Telling sorry tales about his anger issues
Or I’ll take a beating
And no amount of Kleenex tissues
Will soothe my broken nose.
Better go back home.

©2020 Sarah Drury