I need to shade my eyes

From the grit that’s

On these streets

From dirtying my windows

And setting in my mind

 

The nine year old

Screaming gutter abuse

At her mother

While she pats her

On the head

Caves in and

Gives her another

 

The compensation vultures

Circling the pool of claims

Planning their next gain

Picking out riches

From between the bones

Of higher premiums paid

 

Advertising portrayed

In candy coloured

Raffle tickets and sold

Like sweets

Donations staying

Firmly in the bag

Turning sweetly to swag

 

The Magistrate

Sentencing ‘something’

From a pre written script

With no vision

Giving out directions

Whilst not looking

At the final destination

 

The child who has no shades

Who sees things a child

Should never see

Exposed to full grit

With no shades to pass on

There will be no protection

For his son

 

The family who ring ‘999’

Shouting taxi

For their day out

To see the

Doctors and Nurses

Dead on their feet

And then complain

At the end of the day

That they had to wait

And there was fuck all

For tea

 

The father who removes

The roof from

Over his own loins

Having a final wank of

Abuse and hate

Hammering the mothers heart

Into the shape of a collection plate

 

The woman whose happiness

Is carried around for all to see

In a yellow and black cardboard bag

Using her tissue paper womb to

Catch, entrap and grow a seed

Her Johnny Cash comes

Gift wrapped

But he forgot his happy bag

 

If we meet out

On the street

And I put on my shades

It’s to stop the grit

Turning in your

Mixer mind

From spewing out

And concreting my eyes

 

Lynn Hamilton 13.04.2015