Summer nights, bourbon barbecue, smoke ranches in the sky, clashing glasses, Ian Van Dahl and drunken voices over the fence. Talking football, talking shop, in a flap and talking crap. Pert and flirting and unskirting comes the fight. Jilted lovers under covers, would be lovers undiscovered. The thin and fatio under parasol and on the patio. The cuckold husband, no solution, lost in the din and noise pollution. The sociable and anti social, the boastful and the meek, scranning wine and scraggy meat. The neighbours all have complaints but they themselves are never saints. Summer nights and some are pregnant. Full moon rising with its advertising the swaying stars in racing cars. No one’s sober, no one’s sane the fireworks stuck in next door’s drain. Early morning, the sun’s not dressed, stumbles through the debris in his pants and vest. The king of puke with his golden hangover graffities on next door’s Rover. Boobtube, youtube, Ian Van Dahl, it’s all ‘Castles in the Sky’!
By Trev Teasdel- The Poet Reprobate