Desolation Alley

 

a weak light rises over the chimneys

the grass is the colour of piss

smog prises its fingers into bronchial lungs

a dog with three legs barrels down the street

curtains stained with inquisitive glances

stare out at the paperboy on a rusty bike

a cat crawls under a red Cortina parked on bricks

November exhales a grey breath on the windows

 

inside

the smell of baking

the warmth of a bath

the glycerine sheen of condensation

trickling down a cold window

Jenny smiles at nothing

glazed eyes on the wall

the dancing shadows of hope

cast from a hot naked bulb

sway like snakeheads

under her charm

 

tomorrow will be better

tomorrow will be a new day

when the sun might shine

and the phone may ring

and he may come to call

with his all knowing eyes

and tobacco breath

 

the day dawns

screaming its savage words

at the hopeless and the deaf.

 

on Desolation Alley

the ghosts of hope

refuse to haunt the living

and they pity the hollow shells

they are ordained to possess

 

on Desolation Alley

the glasses are all empty

sometimes

the days are like this

sometimes

we cannot drink to forget

so we watch the world

from grimy windows

on Desolation Alley