Morning in Durham

Empty streets, I walk around to find somewhere for food.

The cafes, clubs and restaurants are all closed! That’s no good.

If I want a roll, or slice, there’s plenty scope for that.

But no! I want a full English. I crave the bacon fat.

So, up and down I wander calm, all free from stress I shirk!

To find a nice bright place to sit, with internet that works.

To ‘bills’ I find I gravitate. I’ve been here once before.

The breakfast’s well worth eight pounds odd ‘I haven’t anymore!’

I sit and scoff my fatty food, the grease runs down my chin.

A cup of Earl to wet my throat. Then students wander in.

Eggs royal, without the bread, or chives I here them ask!

Behind my menu card I sit, my smile I have to mask!

A snowflake starts, a family trolls, diversity at worst.

The small kids cry to dads dismay, ‘which one to torture first?’

Parents try to show the rest, how clever their brats are.

They ask outrageous questions, just to prove that they’re a star.

No workers in their hi vis vests will ever cross the door.

They’ll head for Greggs for easy food, where eight pounds gets you more.

The streets outside fill up with folk, all zombified and grey

The old, the young, the homeless ones to start there fruitless day.

The dad behind me winds me up, as he lets his brat run riot!

A hateful glare, a shout to stop, the restaurant’s now quiet!

I wandered in for piece and thought. I felt the need for solace.

If this was home I’de smack that twat, but then they’d call the police!

So Durham on a Friday morn is ‘worth a laugh’ they said

But people fuck it up for me, and mess right with my head!

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