He emerged into the smoke bitten air, more
than glad to greet clocking off with a charge
of slim white sticks saluting the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The dragons with diamond eyes glittered, as he
appeared and he knew he was the news in town.
He pulled his collar up to his ears and, eyes down,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
made the march through a rustle of women \u2013
all ears for an utterance of shame – he was
the villain of the piece, this they knew for sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They had their powder rooms to retire to
and bitch, where could he put his piece forward
with a snifter of Scotch? He grinned to think<\/p>\n\n\n\n
of his comrades talking of their hard treatments
and banishments at the hands of their proud
womenfolk, interrupting commentary on boxed<\/p>\n\n\n\n
ears and knife fights of the street. Still, when he
shunted open the door at the Goat & Nightgown,
he could see, if he hadn\u2019t felt it by now, it was a night<\/p>\n\n\n\n
for hard drinking. He\u2019d had a recce at Smelter\u2019s
Corner at lunch, where you went for tradition
when your life was in the gutter but the slap-faced<\/p>\n\n\n\n
dames who made perch from Accounts, shrieking
like banshee dancers put him off. He threw his black
felt trilby on the bar with relief, \u2018The usual, Jim,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This would be the dame\u2019s last chance, he\u2019d given
her several, and if she bottled out this time, evinced
another excuse to stay in this rat-hole, dung-heap town,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
with the nodding dogs for yes-men and their hollow
-eyed stooges, no horse or ambition, he\u2019d not stay
to be run out by hoodlums and their molls, no fear,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
but he\u2019d be buckled for dust in the morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He emerged into the smoke bitten air, morethan glad to greet clocking off with a chargeof slim white sticks saluting the sky. The dragons with diamond eyes glittered, as heappeared and he knew he was the news in town.He pulled his collar up to his ears and, eyes down, made the march through a rustle … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":824,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-768","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/elliott-stallion-ci7b3Q77n0c-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C960&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/768","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=768"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/768\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":769,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/768\/revisions\/769"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/824"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=768"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=768"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=768"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Sarah is a surrealist, poet-playwright, based in Scotland. She has degrees in creative subjects from Leeds, UEA and Birmingham U\u2019s, life was more structured in academia. On the outside it\u2019s more surreal. But what is real? Aren\u2019t we all constructions? Enjoy the journey.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"