a fifty sixth poem...'fish and piss'

We would be ogling at the chocolate treats, my sister and I, or idly playing with the coin-op by the charity shop counter, and she would come in, smelling of piss and tobacco, unwashed woollens, the city filth woven into her the weave of her clothes, smelling of piss, smelling of piss and rotten fish, tobacco, musk, my sister and I would say she smelled like the decrepit public toilets ‘round the back of the shadowy church yard, the soiled concrete floor, soiled smashed lime-green tiles, she smelled like that, and of the roiling drunks Mum told us never to approach who fell asleep on the wooden benches underneath the Yews, flies undone, mouths slack and wide, piss down their trousers, smelling of fish, piss and tobacco, unwashed, drunk stupid, Mum said never, my sister and I, the old women with her rusty shopping trolley, unwashed woollens, her rusty shopping trolley full of plastic bags full of old china, grubby hands, clockwork hearts, a knackered street-pedlar smelling of rotten fish and filth, the waft of a Victorian sewer, we would stop our ogling, our mouths becoming dry, holding our breath, my sister and I, desperate for the fresh air of the street, and the clean press of Mum’s simple city dress against our cheeks.