Drive-Thru

There’s a city I know where the river flows fastAnd the cars do the same as they hurry on pastThe boarded-up windows of grimy old innsAnd corners that stink of the dullest of sinsNo railings or fences are built in this townThough we all know, come autumn, the children will drownThe scrawl of graffiti spells out countless feudsAnd every day’s dawn is a terrible truthOf the sour resentment that stews in souls hereThough you smile at the tourists, don’t show them the fearBut none of them stay here, at least not for long –They leave here in search of some happier songAnd the children who beamed from the speeding back-seatsI would watch from the kerbside, and wish they were me.