The Problem

Sixty year old women
who have never left using
the 'F' word
as a conjuntive
behind them.

Twenty year old 'men'
who can't pronounce
the names of their beers:
They look like they'll explode
if the accidentally utter
a plesantry.

The endless cackle
of teenage girls
with prams,
black teeth
and fake gold adornments
the weight of
my intolerance.

Christ,
this is a mess,
and they are his followers,
and then all the other
ready made idiots
with their own
erratic fairytale
to follow.

The crackheads
with their cans,
repetitive requests
for 'bus fare...'
Then, to top it all off,
there's all those
who gave up the fight,
bought in to the system
and made the move
forward, impossible.

If it wasn't for this
lunchtime beer,
it might be
too much.