Life goes on

Squashed white 4x4s

swing through

electric-powered gates

which clatter closed

with faux respectability

Land-grabbing

crooks in Cuban heels

step down on gravel drives

greeted by retrievers

and ignored by busy wives

At the bottom

of the hill

swarm the booze-addled

lazy the malign

drug-damaged

and the Poles

Poor Poles

Below the church

the rich and the poor prey

One half upon the other

A mile along the road

the in-betweens

(invisible)

lock themselves away

in motorway-hugging ghettos

Twee estates

Congested winding streets

with TVs set to torpor

Alarm clocks

are primed for six

to leave one hell

and reach another

bumper-to-bumper

before the sun can rise

And in its own sweet way

beneath these ancient skies

nothing changes much

around this small provincial town

Life goes on