Poetry

The Great City

The stench of the city is a tangible whiff

cutting into nostrils, goatees, wigs and quiffs.

The factories as they churn out smoke

Make the ladies clutch their handkerchiefs and the gentlemen choke.

The procession of children from the workhouse in boxes

Goes unnoticed by the gentry as they hide in shadow with doxies.

No, not doxies, my mistake –¬†unfortunate women¬†

as if anyone cares to give them safer work for more than a shilling.