MORE OLD MATTRESSES

OLD MATTRESSES

They have raised a highway

Across our valley

And landscaped it

With blocks of windowed concrete.

Beneath, the river strangles itself

With shopping trolleys

And bits of old bicycles

Worn-out mattresses

And smashed-up pallets are everywhere

While a bloated condom

Flutters by on a piece of driftwood.

Painted hoarding-women

With rotating eyes

Compete for attention

With pram-pushing young love,

Their stilettos tap-dancing the hard shoulder

On a clear day

Juggernauts gleam in the sun

And rolled-up tabloids

Tell tall tales about Royalty

Or football….and Sex

VIADUCT IN PONDERS END

 

VIADUCT IN PONDERS END

 If I were a sheep

Picking a living on this canted grass

I might wish to communicate with my friends,

Similarly pitched across the way,

But would be unable to do so,

Barred by this tarmac valley

That gouges its way between us

 

Conversation would be useless in any case;

This crew-cut corridor is filled

With the tuneless dissonance

Of steel engaging steel

The cadences of piston power reverberating

The never-ending whine and grind

Of this rusty city…

 

If I were a sheep

I think I would wear ear-muffs

from my new collection’ 67′.  http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/