suburban landscapes of hell

dad always fancied ‘imself middle-class,  
despite his boiler suit and sluttish wives.  
Lord knows why he’d emulate  
the biggest bunch of cunts  
to crawl from Gropecunt Lane.  
 
so anxious was he to seem such  
that he said “we’re lower middle-class”  
with pride. if Eliot dreamt of rats in furs  
between the struts of London Town  
me old man thought ‘imself a ‘roach.  
 
a ‘roach in a boiler suit, perhaps,  
long since at peace with metamorphosis,  
and shining guv’nors’ shoes with pride  
while dreaming of hostess trolleys and wives  
who take Valium between meals.