Explore "In Town" by Edward Dyson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Out of work and out of money -- out of friends that / means, you bet -- / Out of firewood, togs and tucker, out of everything / but debt -- / And I loathe the barren pavements, and the crowds / a fellow meets, / And the maddening repetition of the suffocating / streets.
With their stinks my soul is tainted, and the tang is / on my tongue / Of that sour and smoky suburb and the push we're / thrown among, / And I sicken at the corners polished free of paint / and mirk / By the shoulders of the men who're always hanging / round for work.