Like two book ends hunched
Paul & Mary rock back and forth
Peter is on the scrounge.
I've seen them before looking through the railings
listing like sheaves of corn
inner city sadness
the tiniest triangle of Green
an oasis surrounded by judgemental houses
keeping people apart,
not their real names obviously.
I'm thinking of the trio who left on a Jet Plane
the gate is open, they can go in but they are
paralysed by fear.
They are/were somebody's children.
See the adult, look for the child inside.
What happened?
Should I go and take them by the hand
and lead them to the promised land
of Pentre Gardens?
I like this poem very much.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Jennifer!
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