This is not an art society
This is a money society
A pleasure society
With most in an amorphous state
Demanding forms for themselves.
Where is the curer of souls;
He who gives advice to the lovelorn
As well as the thief and the life-taker?
There are no real answers;
So what do you do?
Perhaps the black youth had the answer
Waving a train timetable at me as I passed him by;
He had missed his stop and was shouting
‘You gonna’ help me out? Have you got a dollar’?
‘That depends’, I mouthed silently
‘On whether you have a gun or not’.
Luckily for me he didn’t.