The Beat Goes On ...

Durham Buildings reeks
of fish and chips and oysters,
chocolates and semen, reefers
and roses – bikes that run
on ether. Down the hall
the Pattersons are at it again
hammer and tongs. Their brat
with his new drum-kit, tries
to drown them out. And then
there are the newly-weds upstairs …
a kind of tempo rubato,
as cornices quake
and breeze blocks jive.

Scrawled-on stairwells resound
to a sweet discordant euphony
of climactic ecstasies. The squeak
and scrape of bedsteads, shakes
distempered walls, vibrates
Artexed ceilings; reverberates
through concrete floors.
And so we lay – backs still damp
on satin sheets; watch neon signs
melt into the moonlight. Listen
to the rhythm of the rain
tap-tapping on the skylight,
six-eight time. The electrifying beat
to the symphony of life.