“BaRking NatiVity” by P.A. Leavy


We boy astrologers

search for Venus

every night;

constellation gazers

yeah! that’s us, eyeing up

council estate slappers

laser backlit

into dancefloor angels

ultraviolet delight

round the back alley

skirt up

left leg wrap;

pant! pant!

shake down zip it up quick

she’s that dun-in on Alcopops

gonna be sick: laters luv

give yer a bell next week.

Another less than

immaculate conception.

Mary-jane never heard

from Joe again

sixteen years young

with a kick brat inside ‘er,

sits all alone

princess in Barking Towers;


twenty fourth floor of a

planner’s wet dream

complete with en suit

piss puddles in the stairwell

crack dens

in the subterranean

car park;

not there on the blueprint

of a less than immaculate


When kick brat

want out

Mary-jane ain’t got

a scoobie-do,

the lifts are bust;

calls for an ambulance

no-go location

from clouds to dole-lands

is a big drop destination.

Panic town.

She calls her main man

King Skag with two mates

from East Ham and Forest Gate

on the A13

following tailgate lights

heading east

bearing gifts of chocolate

vodka and pain relief

clambered into her flat

in time to help

with cooking hits

and building bongs

to make it flow for

Mary-jane and her boy

she will call:

Fuck Off Bastard Son

Of Him.

Joe’s been told a rumour

some stupid slut’s

put the word out.

Yeah ‘e remembers ‘er


‘cos she were sick

and also the rot

she gave his dick

so ‘e’s keen to put an end

to being bad-mouthed

by a mare

of a one night stand

and headed off for Barking station

when his mate said; “Hey Joe,

where you going

with that gun in yer hand?”



Born East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of rural Suffolk, P.A.Levy is a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies on the website.


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