The Workers

The workers are gathering
In pubs behind shop fronts
Checked carpet and wood
Period lights getting brighter

The great minds of a generation
Clearing empty glasses from tables
Refining critiques of each other
Point making, missing the floor

In the corner, squinting clarity
Dilation beyond the intentional half
And the world offering itself up
Clear and manageable as not before

By the window, lives they could have lived
With more spirit and belief
And beauty their eyes tell them about
Before they disown their own feelings

Sleep gratified, they wake disgusted
Shouting inward to empty space
Frowning at those who hide
In youth or possibility

The full consideration

Of morning burning heads
No point, in change they see
Paying money to feel free

Pavement Walls

The place you know from crime statistics
That you never come to see
I’ve never met you here
You never fill my empty concrete afternoons

I’d take your shock or your fear

I’d take your knowing, I’m better, look
If you’d take me out
Break me out from pavement walls