On The Road To Samaria

In expensive shoes,

he negotiated life in the third person;

toes swathed in top quality calfskin,

safe from random shit and shards,

where neither grass nor paved path

could sully his soft arches and soles.


He wore fine suits;

an actor avoiding the fourth wall,

costumed and painted with lines learnt,

senses fenced off with silk and cashmere,

any truthful light blocked by scenery.


He drove fast cars;

cosseted in high-end second skin caskets,

hermetically sealed and sheltered from rain,

all shocks absorbed and sins absolved,

reality suspended for the duration.


Using remote screens,

he casually exploited worlds lived separately,

salving conscience with painless gestures,

shifting small sums with gift aided texts,

untouched by the sweat of first person lives;


always remembering to give openly,

while keeping a record for tax purposes.

◄ What It All About, Albert?

Yew ►


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Jonathan Humble

Sun 29th Jan 2023 09:38

Thank you Stephen and Uilleam.

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 28th Jan 2023 17:01

A crisply written poem with a broad sweep and great images, Jonathan. I enjoyed it very much.

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Sat 28th Jan 2023 12:12

untouched by the sweat of first person lives;

A great line.

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