Kilburn Bridewell, 1967

1

Bawled awake on a slab o’ granite

In de arsehole of a Bridewell.

Reek like a slaughterhouse truck,

Trousers damp an’ stuck to me legs.

Throat like I swalleed tar

A chip from me front tooth, lips o’ dried puke.

A pain in de curl o’ me brow

Like a Kango tunnellin out.

2

Recall no sort o’ incident,

Only went to wet de lips after work.

Dere was fiddles an’ whoopin,

Fine lookin women an’ a plate o’ puddin.

Den black like I fell down a manhole,

Like I got swalleed by a whale.

Black like de dark o’ de womb,

De dark hours whooshed into a vacuum.

3

Desk Sergeant hands over

me shoes an’ me keys.

Presents me with fog

on a charge sheet.

Sign here, Paddy. X’ll do, Paddy

Right fuckin state you were in last night, Paddy

Must be right proud of yourself,

Paddy I’ll see you in court, Paddy.

Better pack your fuckin toothbrush,

Paddy Got toothbrushes in Ireland, Paddy?

4

Sunlight’s like lime in me eyes,

Tormented with horns an’ engines an’ drills.

Not a copper to rub in me palms,

Not a bull’s where I am or where I’m off to.

Not two straight thoughts runnin together,

Brain whirlin like sand in a mixer.

Shakes. I’m a holy show.

I’m a disgrace. I’m a walkin disaster.