Friday, January 15, 2010

THE WAREHOUSE BLUES


THE WAREHOUSE BLUES

Hunckered, rocking
In the silence of noise,
Concrete spits back drops of rain,
And whining wires whistle word ‘ungrateful!’

Self-wrapped, smoking,
From the wind of tyres…hiding
In a corner shadow, fogged by regret,
Glared at, imprisoned by paper-beeched hedges.

Reddened, greying,
Signs of liquidation…rusting
Boxes no longer chalk-churned,
Windowed-eyes cracked with tears.

Snortling seafarers,
Soar way up over Sunday’s Well,
Winged tattling scavengers delighting in the misery of men,
Who wail a lament called ‘The Warehouse Blues’

Maureen Walsh - 15th January, 2010 ©

No comments: