I Live Over There - revision

[billy]

Past houses where spouses are spitting at children strong opening, though past houses gives the impression you're apart from or above those people
and satellite dishes are marks of distinction; even the poorest have a dish now, i suppose the size of the dish could be but that's not what's being said
where villainous vermin shadow-box curtains curtains don't box, not even metaphorically, you could shadow box on curtains etc
and takeaway cartons bespatter the gardens; strong line
where nobody bothers to pick up the dog shit
while stood on the pavement twittering gossip getting a real good rhythm going
and stubbing their ciggies on steps without polish, not like back in the day when they were all cardinal red
deporting the darkies and ordering curries i'm not so sure this stereotype works now, as they deport all races equally. if you're black and European, you're in
and voting for parties that all sound like Tories
while falling asleep to the new bedtime stories. a bit vague

Past bungalows greying, decaying and sagging
where Cornelius Hawkins left himself hanging; i googled as one does and found this is an American happen-stance (i thought i was in the UK, mainly because you used the word pavement earlier as well as the word tories, neither of which connects the reader to the USA)
the neighbours come round ‘cos the dog kept on yapping
at the rope in the loft from which he was dangling.
The TV left on but nothing worth watching.
I wonder what dogs make of men hung like washing? i like the idea that dogs think

Past knickers and needles and knives in the back
down the alley that leads to the railway track
where Harry the Alky in a flash of insight
had laid himself down between the train lines:
the train passed straight over and Harry survived,
some people just cannot do anything right.
Of course, Harry eventually choked on his vomit,
now drivers sound horns when approaching the crossing
as a warning of sorts to those bent on dying
and a curse to all others attempting a lie-in. no nits here, funny, sad, and witty,

Past the park that the council desire for allotments,
the football pitch now has but one set of goalposts.
Bureaucracy’s moved them to state its position:
the residents draw up another petition.
A perennial game of attack and defence
on cabbages, peas and a faded green bench
by the burial grounds where the dead cannot rest
but be shuffled around to make room for who’s next,
before the barb-wire surrounding the wood
that’s a small tuft of hair on a balding man’s head
that is soon to be shaven the signs indicate
for my local estate is a cancerous pate. another good stanza with no nits.

Oh, I do it disservice, I’m all bile and jaundice,
tomorrow the snow will have smoothed every surface:
the earth will resemble a different planet;
one I’m able to visit, if not quite inhabit. i like the end

an slice of urbania. well told though a few things could do with an edit. i liked the voice of the poem and the rhythm was good though it felt off in an odd place or two. i know you're mic poet so i'm putting it down to it being read aloud as a little different to it being read off the page. the ing thing is a bit jarr-----ing
some good images, and some good original lines of poetry.

thanks for the read ray, (sorry if i got the name wrong )