Weston Bay 2

Behind the hotels
lies a squat little town
made brutal by the loss of its work
A haven for hard-men
alcoholics
and sofa-shaped mothers
who scream at their kids
as they bruise along the streets
Drug-rehab drop-outs
stripped to the skin
whose dogs shit under my feet
buy their junk
from London Svengalis
whose four-wheel-drives
bring a touch of class
to refuse-scattered Alfred Street
If none of this has put you off
and the fancy takes you down this way
be careful who you look in the eye
remember to keep on rolling by
with your gaze turned out to the sea