Even though no-one seems to like my anti-poetry, or maybe simply because no one likes it, I'm going to keep on posting it. So there. Yah, boo, sucks to yez all.
Myself and my wife run a Bead and Crystal shop in Dublin city called Yellow Brick Road - call in and see us next time you're passing. On the days when I work at the shop I travel by train - the DART as it's known, which stands for Dublin Area Rapid Transit or transport or something like that. Anyway, I get off the DART at Tara Street station and every morning, except Saturday, there are piles of junkies hanging around outside the station, drinking coffee from paper cups and dealing drugs.
Now, Dublin has a serious drugs problem and naturally, the police allow junkies to buy and sell drugs on the street no matter how offensive this may be to citizens and distasteful o the few poor tourists who stumble onto the wrong bits of the city - mostly the city centre which used to be the pride of our nation but is now overrun by drug addicts nodding out in the streets or on the expesnively built Boardwalk that runs along the Liffey for a short while and is now owned by the low life's - with the greatest respect to any low life Boardwalk owners who may be reading this.
I could go on about this for hours but you're probably bored already so I'll consider enough background filled in so that i can get to the anit-poem. It's called...

Station Junkies

Why are there so many junkies outside Tara Street?
Are they addicted to trains, or what?