Canto LXXXIV

I run two laps during the magic hour
and from a certain point I shoot a glance
toward the city’s growing clutch of towers

then back towards the sloping hills that once
were used for grazing sheep in the Great War.
Below, the workers in their council vans

have knocked off from their current daily chore,
installing drainage to tackle the lakes
that form downhill after every downpour,

though it seems every penny that we make
flows upwards, zooming through the city’s veins
to reach the ground floor as the street lights wake

to rise storey by storey til they gain
the penthouse vantage point from which they fly
to offshore spawning grounds where they remain

oblivious to our receding lives.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Lucy Lepchani
    Nov 23, 2011 @ 23:12:08

    wonderful

    Reply

  2. peter litton
    Nov 25, 2011 @ 00:55:48

    I like the idea that money keeps rising till it reaches penthouse level…
    Impoverished poets are definitely bottom feeders.

    This must have been inspired by the recent reports into executive pay.
    Nice work.

    Reply

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