Suedehead, pulp horror writer, and man about town; the UK poetry scene would be a duller place without Tim Wells. In No Weakeners, he harks back to the streets that made him-captured in snapshots of his teenage love life-with trademark chutzpah and dry wit. We stop at pubs, gigs, behind the bins, in cemeteries and sticky-floored cinemas, to honour a shimmer of fierce and formidable young women. Hard drinking and hard fighting, they are nobody's fools. Spitting defiance: 'a million girls are born, they do not cry but kick.'