Death Row Town

 

 

At four in the morning, he’s shouting,

At four in the morning he’s shouting his odds

Drunken, drunk as half the town

With a couple of pound for some spliff,

As drunk as half the town,

A northern town impoverished

And ill at ease with itself,

And it’s less in his mind -

All he once knew.

 

Shouting the lost words of his youth

As bargaining for blades

Go his children, thwarted by

All the towns praise,

 

At four in the morning he’s shouting

His odds as I sit by a candle

For all that is lost,

And I could chaperone the police

To be by his side but know

There be more to replace

His cries,

At four in the morning I wouldn’t bother

Myself, for I know he be shouting

The truth, but the children are listening,

Courting his righteousness

For the mistake he was gave

 

And the kids go brimming

For he’s something to do -

Mocking his cause,

And the flaws they’re aware of

For their lives that are short,

And no echo of reasoning

Brings back his call,

Just silence and streetlamps

And the barking of dogs.

 

At four in the morning I pray for him,

At four in the morning I pray for my son,

At four in the morning as the drunks

Stagger home,

I think of myself within this rancour

Of life, and know the man’s shouts,

Fall stoney to ground,

Like the promise of heaven,

The promise of fantasy land

Where life can be found.

 

Death on the streets

Lay vibrant its last,

As each life-form with promise

Throes the last gasp,

And the kids are still listening,

Bristling with rage for all

Told what’s to come,

And as sharp as they are

With all manners of stars,

They’re fingering the triggers

Of stolen the gun.

 

Michael J Waite 12^th March 2012.