Where the buses run
like noisy shepherds trying to contain their flock
with nothing but a Come, Come here, Here
I don’t speak that tongue
and the only dogs we know are lost.
So we don’t run for the buses
as the cheap cloth rips at the seams
to drop our pennies in the gutter
Where the windows catch cold
so you can scrawl your memories
with only the help of hot breath.
Let me break that window
with my stubborn
holding tight to the sill.
Where each day is planned in bullet points
and fulfilled on a checklist system
where each tick means something
so make sure there’s ink left
Making us hold our tongues
for a better day
just a better canvas for our thoughts.
Where the carnival passes as you sleep
so you dream
touching the sky and painting
with sun blushed hands.
We put our money on the wrong horse
but his buck tooth grin
and foolhardy pace
made us regret the decision
less and less
by the second.
Where the foxes scrounge in the allotments
like beggars with clothed hands,
we scream the ground holds nothing for them
but bags of sand.
I’ll give them the water they need
to make their half way houses
with cheap concrete.
Where the water only finds hills
that point from the sea
so don’t tell me your tributaries
follow the right direction.
I’ll float my paper boats
with paper sailors
manning the guns
until their Viking burial
robs them of their bravery.
Where the washing lines
fly half mast on rainy days
daring to show their grace
when another day has drowned.
Let me play kiss chase with the dawn
it can stay two steps ahead
as long as it knows
that I’m playing the game too.