Good As Gold
Down the market where the meat-hooks gleam,
When the dawn breaks with a silent scream,
And it’s time to guide your face to home.
Another night has ended;
There’s a photograph on someone’s wall
That reminds them who you are and all,
When the future froze with grim aplomb
And saw your dreams suspended.
From the window of the Laundromat
You smoke your fags and smell a rat
The colours spin round in the drum
The clothing seems entitled;
With sighing lips and bleeding eyes
You curse into the slate grey skies
Emotions in you turning numb
The feelings are recycled.
From a cloudburst by a dying tree
The rain falls down half-heartedly
Another day has nearly passed
With nothing good arising;
The oil drums burn out in the street
Frost bitten hands, frost bitten feet,
Another day just like the last,
Why isn’t that surprising?
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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