Canto IV

For now, all is calm as calm can be.
The riots didn’t reach this part of town
to trash the toff shops and patisseries.

The sport shop left the lights on just to show
their stock had been packed off some other place.
The other stores just kept the shutters down.

We panic bought and locked our doors to brace
ourselves for raging mobs that didn’t come,
our paranoia brought us perfect peace

as trouble moved to Liverpool and Brum.
Opinions overloaded twitter feeds
and all the damage didn’t match the sum

we lost to tax evaders and the greed
of bankers that we bailed out of shit creek.
I did not shed a tear for the high street,

the local businesses doubled their take
when Maccy D’s and Foot Locker went down
and Currys cleared out all their plasma stocks.

But I digress, the sinking autumn sun
maintains its silence before it winks out
behind the tired lid of the horizon.

It looks that way, despite what we’ve been taught
About Copernicus and spinning spheres,
or how that fiery ball is far from quiet

and how it’s really we that disappear—
our bodies and or species but a fleck
of cosmic spunk lobbed from its numb desire.

I pity it though, for the beings I make
will be from love and then sustained through love
and love can help me loose my grip and take

one hand off the world, so that in death I give
the world for someone else to see anew.
I pity the poor sun that will outlive

the children that it never comes to know.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Nov 11, 2011 @ 00:44:19

    I’ve mentioned it before… the vault, the sudden change of emphasis. Here it is extreme, the jump from inner city riots to spinning solar spheres. I’m still thinking about it and that makes this a good poem.


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