Monday, 9 January 2012

I Wait Here

I wait here, a place where hoods are up
On children, on ledges of former buildings
Where shouting starts and no one calls them down
Where food is delivered by unstable scooters
and they buy gold and sell beauty
From an upstairs salon of brutal concrete

The wet has filled last winter's potholes
Taking the dry of shirtless Sundays,
The dominant light of a meat emporium
What's bought is not owned, generations
Of choices, frozen food, turkey crowns on shelves
Donations paid for by the Kilogram sack

The dark of the sky is here, a dead cat
Doesn't feel the cold, of courting teenagers,
Swearing to each other, disappearing
Down the dirt filled ginnells of night
To enclosed brick capsules of life, shelters
From the distant presence of the unknown

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