Junkie (For J.M) Poem by Vincent James Turner

Did your thoughts form images
of soil-brown nails
and gaunt, slippery features
when you read 'that' word?
Could you hear the flapping
of bed sheets hanging
from the empty framed windows
of those squalid squats?
Did you feel angry when
three of 'them' set an obstacle course
of limbs and penny-full coffee cups
outside the station doorway.

You were going to work, right?
were late, and there they were
soaking up the early morning sun
putting you of your Cornish Butter Croissant
with their fermented urine stench.
And God, what of your taxes
swiped from your well earned wage
for it to end up in their vile veins.

'Lay- about-self pitying- skid marks of society'.
Isn’t that what you said?
Well this one’s for you J.M,
you can read it tonight whilst
you glug your 'stress reliever'
behind the locked bathroom door.

As your wife struggles
with the chalky bitterness
of a little white pill,
whilst scanning the internet
looking for answers as to why
your son claims to hear voices
and refuses to leave his flat.