178 – The Bastard

Poem number 178
.
The Bastard
.
The Bastard comes at noontime, in a knackered transit van
Eyes alert for white-goods or a dog
Freezer on a doorstep? Well he’ll have it if he can
He’ll take anything at all that he can flog
The van has no insurance, it’s not registered or taxed
He’s no licence ’cause he never took a test
He never pays for petrol ’cause the garage staff are lax
He’s a landlocked petrol pirate in string vest
Today he’s in West London and next week he’ll be in Bath
Via Reading, Swindon, Malmesbury and Stroud
Searching, stealing, flogging all the way along his path
He’s a bastard. He’s a scumbag. And he’s proud.

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