Bare rib walls beckon.
Cast your eyes for a second.
Over an array of the following:
Two up, two down.
“Moving to a different town.”
A display of feature wall damp.
Only a tenner? Or maybe a bank!
Suspiciously flat roofs.
Terracotta coloured loos.
Gaping alleys with corrugate teeth.
Won’t deter a budding thief.
A bedroom – big enough to swing a cat.
No familiar welcome mat.
The finest of South Shore style.
No need for tele for Jeremy Kyle.
I just want somewhere to rest my head.
A place to put my box-spring bed.
Right now it seems wherever I roam.
There’s nowhere I can call my home.