I don't belong here on these streets
High rise blocks of ochre and cream
No jacket in November and a sky so blue.
I don't belong amongst these women
In their widows tubes and wedge heeled shoes
Juggling their rosaries and mobile phones.
I don't belong where puppies are thrown in the refuse
And kittens are kicked to death for fun.
I don't want donkey stew.
Take me to some british suburb
Red brick houses, victorian semi's
Where men in aprons are lighting bbq's
And washing cars and drinking pints.
Show me gravel drives and much loved house cats,
Leafy places where the dead sleep under flowers
And children play in gardens and neighbours say hello.
Let me hear a welsh choir singing and the theme from Dr Who.
Then I'll kiss you in Sainsbury's car park
And there'll be sausage, egg and chips for tea.
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