Saturday Suite Pt 1 - Ritual
Forced out, they took the streets,
staggering en masse towards the lights.
Karen fell over and the crowd went wild.
‘C’mon, we’ll go to Jo-Jo’s!’
They zagged the road.
Horns punched; bonnets thumped.
Reformed chicken, lamb, and beef,
a world of eats on an illuminated street.
[ We’re Open - Hygiene Rating: One Star. ]
Grease-lined strip-lights zapped an interior of ketchup red and mustard tan.
A blackened mop relaxed alongside a bucket of matching fluid.
‘Double cheeseburger with chips and a Diet Coke™.’
‘Go large for 50p?’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
Formica™ curled wearily from the countertop,
cut deep into its skin [ RICKY ].
Hot chips melted snuggly into a polystyrene tub.
Head back, her jaw scaled the tower of bread, flesh and cheese.
Sauce ran down her wrist, lettuce clung to her lip.
Twas the feast of Saturday night.
Saturday Suite Pt 2 - Food Chain
It was golden, a source of much told strength.
Sticky Red Bull™ carried fragments of ‘New Improved Flavour’
prawn cocktail crisps through cracks in the pavement.
Fag butts and bottle tops mingled with tetchy ants and woodlice,
buzzing on a cocktail of sugar, caffeine and MSG.
Over a constellation of spat gum and broken glass,
foil danced with leaves, without shame.
The wind turned the page on yesterday’s news.
‘I’m a celebrity - Get me out of here!’
Empty buses with stoic drivers
swept a carnival of litter into the morning air.
A fridge had made its way onto the street.
A shoe had lost someone.
The morning sun found the kingdom at breakfast.
Cat’s having curry,
pigeon’s at the rice.
Fox’s scored a Mars Bar™,
rat’s chips sure looked nice.
They all took a moment,
In thanks of Saturday night.
Copyright. Rob Swain.
Originally from Belfast, emerging writer Rob Swain has spent the past two decades living in and around London. He discovered a passion for creative writing via studying with the OU during lockdown, and is particularly interested in writing about urban life and culture at street level. Rob has had works longlisted and published in his first year of creative practice.