Done Down

DONE DOWN Reaching for the curtain sides with bony grasping fingers, I allow passage to the pressing of daylight, which billows through the glass hurriedly, into the spark-less long cold boiler room. Outside in the early street, laced in reflective white powder deep, and glowing orange under the wasted lamps, Part people are carrying the heavy remains of their memories. Which included good! And ok! It Surrounded them in a halo of wellness. Remnants of their jigsaw lives being straggly, dragged towards the iron gates of hope. Their fortune lines on blistered hands fading, erased by the scythe of greed unloaded onto each of their minds by the voted for few, they sitly comfort in their cabinets, Their walls built from flimsy promises, the weight increasing in their deepening pockets of self, Impressed into the colding snow footprints they follow like children in tow but all in the one-way street, their footprints separated forever from their bodies, by pain and a basic need.