I remember, someone putting out food
on a bird table.
Then being heartbroken and in tears
when the rats came.
The exact same thing applies
to your Energy… and People.
Council Flat Enemies
Thirty seven years, three months and thirteen days
they’ve been stuck living next to each other.
Mentally chained at the dodgy hip,
each refusing offers to move home out of spite.
You could supply electricity
to a small third world country
with the dark energy
that buzzes back and fore
each day through those hateful walls.
Knowing the time of your enemies bowel movements
can’t be good for either your mind or soul.
Their septuagenarian soldiering
goes on way past Ovaltine time most nights.
Sat as keen as hawks, rigid with anticipation,
for the slightest peep, most trivial of disturbance,
to log and report to the terrorized Housing Officer.
The Springtime sun is shining
outside of their heavily curtained windows
for the first time in weeks
but they are both completely unaware of it.
Along with ice-cream cones, seaside walks,
the smell of freshly cut grass, smiling ‘hello’
and everything else associated with pleasant living.
Written During A Mini Breakdown (I Think?)
Into the other, she slipped,
like a busted heel,
a something special, broken
Shuddering like a subway
unseen, like a Banksy.
No one cares, nor
The colours are vacant
but there are shadows
deeper and more important
than the hands they stretch
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography
published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids
instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096
‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036. You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
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