A reader’s poem: An ode to Brighton

I’ve seen a six-foot-four transvestite driving a bus
Her passengers smile, make no fuss,
I’ve seen cyclists, thousands, with their bits hanging free
Dancing on the pebbles, with Fatboy, no fee.
I’ve seen marches; no fox hunting, no war, I want to wear a dress
Save the Albion, the whale, our beloved NHS,
I’ve seen stags, hens, lads, and cads
West Street at closing, and the ubiquity of fads.
I’ve seen flares swing and skinny jeans chafe
Winklepickers clop and platforms, unsafe,
I’ve seen glow sticks, white gloves, freaky dancing
The goths, mods, chavs and whatever’s in.
I’ve seen record shops depart, and hairdressers arrive
Nightclubs close, and students skive,
I’ve seen beer, and house, prices skyrocket
Weekenders invade, leaving happily out of pocket.
I’ve seen gays and lesbians liberated in the park
Countless walks of shame long after dark,
I’ve seen our town, not city, a cultural icon
Forever in my heart, I love you Brighton.