Border Town

The whisky and the punching
Left me wheezing in a ditch
As the uncouth rattle of scooters
Lay rhythms through the village,

I remember the horses
Dancing in circles,
The comments of owls
And the ice cold winds
As they wafted across
My damp and bruised body,
Singing sweet songs
Of gin and confusion.

You don’t go table dancing with farmers,
You don’t shout out welsh rebel songs
In a rough border town
Or pepper your speech with violence and phlegm
To a yard of drunk strangers
Who fight for a living,

It used to be
People like me
Died at the hands
Of these troglodytes,

But these ditches they love me like family,
These stars they guide me home
And in time I will realise
I was born for this beating,

Born for the night fields
And border town violence,
Aggression spat random,
A queer cloud at dawn.

6 Responses to “Border Town”

  1. Very raw and still wonderfully poetic!

  2. Hot damn, that’s good!

  3. dunstancarter Says:

    Thanks Ina and Fay

  4. really wonderful. thanks for sharing.

  5. Wow, there was a powerful grit and edgy feel to this that grabbed hold and didn’t let go! Well done!

  6. dunstancarter Says:

    Happy to have grabbed – cheers for the feedback

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