Shoplifter Wearing Hollister: The Sum of Things To Come

Look through the letterbox door
only to be disappointed again.
Think back home
only to be disappointed again.
Green fields and cream teas, Yorkshire’s gold
but flip that around and upside down
to that walk home that time when the moon was dying.

They talked of sport but did want to kill,
although their eyes in the behind car headlights
sought after a different thrill.
Drug mule children walk on paths,
rocked roads, weighed down by holey lobes-
an attempt to be cool again. Hollister
doesn’t cut it when smoking shit, you premature shoplifter.
Go home, get to bed,
gaze upon the pin up women
you have inside your head.