British Still Life

fags die a drowning death
at the pit of a stale pint,
all warmed up and pisslike
like a drunk crack whore from
Middleborough chatted up
by the swearing hisslike
of some old asbo fuck.

By the pool table,
some cunts down cans,
in their shitey Majorca tans,
bellowing about some fitba rants.
But I fix my gaze
on the pool balls,
their echoes in the hall.
Who has the daring gall
to make their final call
and throw the pint and the fags
to them fucking fags faces?