Shoreditch sonnet

In Shoreditch, with its cobbled, fad-filled streets,
You see the open-minded strut and pout.
They listen to their tinny, tussled beats,
Ceramic eyed, the lids held up with grout.
And further down, in Hoxton Square, they loll,
And watch the weary world go ‘blinkered by,
Like sheep, you know?’ They pause, mid bleat, to roll
A wet-lipped cigarette, and then a sigh.
Bobdylanned roosters winklepicking shade;
Ironic ironing statements in the bars;
The indecisive watching henna fade,
While dandies tweak in passing, mirrored cars.