Not Ninevah

Dirty boy, you half-baked boy, stop still.
Are you not a British boy, serve us.
Now you throw the coaster out, beer-mat.
Friendly barman, shoot your mouth with crack-
 a-hacking cough, bell-ring, barman, bring in
   the tarmac quick, the salt vinegar chips
 and leaves twigs caked in bubbling
sick

an ancient effigy, green-man smokes a stick
and stacks disgust as vaguely hunted trophies.