The lighted first-floor windows illuminate them

Their good sides always facing outwards

Like so many beautiful birds they perch;

Silently caged,

Mouthing ‘For Sale’ pleasantries



Others less beautiful ply the darkness

Stalked by vermin

And the ghosts of their childhood


There is a rage

Unfurling flags of despair;

‘Look at what you have done’

Some are shouting

‘Don’t you care?’


These articulate ones are the ugliest

The least loved

And the loneliest

from my new book of poetry ’67’  http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/




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