Sunday 24 October 2010

Too far

Slow man you have swum out too far
Your face a scowl, eyes a fierce stare
No more questions to the sweet girls
Who look after you, your carers

A pretty garden, people said
A small room, a bed, sink and chairs
Photos. The air nursing home thick
We hold hands in the dark, for hours

Each morning brings the same blue gaze
Eyes from a dead face that express
Anger that you cannot come back
Slow man you have swum out too far

Friday 8 October 2010

Autumn SE22

Brick ships loom through the clouds
Pastel buildings, yellow sludge of flowers
Peckham is at her brightest now
Deliquescent. A cut-price utopia

It is light that binds us through the murk
A glimpse of Florida millionaires
Today's chatter – the economy
Experts dilate, on six-figure salaries

The city is a vast, decaying hulk
We are its ghost crew, its shadows
Autumn pavements are wreathed in mists
Like wraiths, we slide through its cracks