I ask you

I ask you. pic for poem

 

words stall

splutter, sprawl

like puppy dogs

and things that crawl

 

go lightly

go dark

tinker with guilt

go for walks in the park

 

I have a drawer

stuffed full of them

a wriggling shower

all prone to mayhem

 

and can I tame them?

hell NO

they are gone. Pro Tem

Hello. I call. Hello

 

I sometimes ask for the menu

the weegee board of reason

in order to get a view

and they answer with treason

 

vexatious as ever

characters designed to play

bit parts that deliver

things I should not say

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