City Gin Song

It’s a race to hide my misery
As the rattled foxes scream
And the soot faced children scatter
To homes more dead than alive,

The city gin song of an old bag
Stings like nettles down the alley,
Half eaten sandwiches turn black
And slugs slide over bins.

“If you plot out your future
Like you’re laying down gauntlets,
You’ll forever face let downs
And bruised heart mirages.”

Loud breaths catch echoes,
They are mine and I’m crumbling like coastlines,
I am caught by the pavestones and pebbles,
I fall down and my head splits the future.

Poetry.net

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