TEENAGED

The not so little half ladies
Crawl around the terraced streets
In crews of no less than seven
Looking for alcohol, or fools
Willing to finance it for them;
Either down the throat
Or up the road, or any way it flows.
Though everyone round here
Is enamored of themselves,
And the armour assumed as society’s:
Hefty golden hands,
Backwards baseball caps,
Elasticated waist bands
Of fallen truck apparel,
Half priced fags from strangers,
Diluted drugs from neighbours,
Booze in bulk from nearer
Home than continental superstores;
They’re junking or dealing,
Or foreign or freewheeling,
Or a tribal member or a tourist lost on
The edge of industry, or a
Rambler thigh deep in
Gilt edged fields -
So those little girls
May be in luck.