A Litter of Roads

“I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar 
 
Farewell To Deputy Manager Eric
Sacked from his Official Post
As Govenor of Roads
He is a functionary and slovenly
Tower blocks surround him
In the pubs he drinks gin,

Say goodbye wonder why
Police pull up in Mercs & BMWs
A breed apart.
A gormless copper berates boys playing ball
The cops score some shit offa the boys
Get back on the road to nowhere
The white clouds are endless.
 
The roadwork continues.
Around the bus station
The same rowdy travellers
Congregate.
I pity the roadworkers labouring
On a day of digging and earth moving
Their sweat drips into the soil.
It is mid-July and they work overtime.
Who knows what they have to eat.
Living is hard work.
A day laying down a tiny part of a new road
Sweat drips down into the soil.
Every day is difficult.
The workers work-argue all day
They wish inaction was on its way.
It isn't.
 
At home these men's children
dip their faces into towels
then grunt when their fathers
arrive home after eight hours graft. 
 

 

 

 

◄ Beloved City

Popocatépetl ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message