Run down buildings,
drab and dreary rain soaked streets,
car fumes up to here,
making me sick,
whilst waitin’ around here,
in the noise,
with not much cheer,
whilst waitin’ for the bus out of here,
with the rubbish rolling down the street,
whilst drinking beer,
drinking beer,
yes, it is a waste of time for the mind,
living here,
living here,
where the locals are more likely to eat a book,
than read it with educated looks,
and shout and scream and leer,
a place not one for staying in,
a place where no one smiles,
and where there is mostly fear,
and here I am with a plan,
standing in the rain,
glad to be getting out of here soon,
glad to be getting away on the bus,
and happy as I see the place rapidly disappear.

No Profile, Writing and poetry
Author: admin

Hello, I am Ben Robinson, a poet, my first book of poetry Alas the day was written in Dorset, in the United Kingdom.

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