257. the filth *

typical bloody copper

she thought

staring up at the woodchip ceiling

– come –

as if !

you’re not pounding the beat now

you cocky bastard


banging away

in the creaky bed

with the creaky floorboards

& pantomime B&B landlady

with her ear to the wall, no doubt,

at oh two hundred hours:

he’s the one on secondment

on automatic pilot

& paying the bills


– and whispers in her ear

come quietly now

come quietly.