scraps

Scraps. Poem photograph

 

They never fall

those spots of reason

on flesh drawn tight, in retreat, braying

hauled about and withered

by fears stacked up

and shrieking at, no other way

because there was

no other way, not for them

not then behind their bared teeth

 

but now a rush of rust on metal, it’s scalding heat,

illuminating those screech marks of decay

like time, bold on the eaten substance whose texture

might render beauty to a mind

so bidden

but,

lassitude allows mould

to fret and gather over

those dull accomplishments

and the question of;

what is this ache, this cause?

that infects the colour blue

that famous state

folk hero hue

that is an attitude of mind gone flaky with

an intimate knowledge

belonging to more than just the few.

 joined by other colours and stripes

like red and yellow, their snipers blazing

indignant, implacable; a virus rising behind immunity

our politicians so adept at leaving

 

scraps

always scraps

that in the end

are left

in view

and reason that escapes

all of them in that milieu

Error message…’I’m going to **** *** ****…’ Send

Error message

 

A magnificent rant

Full of bile. Malodourous

Extruded hate

Desperate. Drink fuelled confusion

Committed to air by pressing ‘send’

And sealing a toxic mistake to history

From down there in the deeply dark

Out now to fester. A lingering testamony

To a failed state

Always to hover and float

In a memory alert to casual triggers

So, will there be, debris

Some reciprocal ache

Some collateral damage

A stain left from the rancour

Or will I see sense

Forgive and forget

Grow a little as I toast my luck

Because in this small episode

My conscience is clear