Forsaking Auld Lang Syne

 

The city centre puddles

reflect fireworks in the sky

whilst stripped

Christmas wrapping paper

soaks up the deluge

like a homeless sleeping bag.

 

Dustbins overflow with leftovers

oiled with greasy greed.

 

A bottle of wine splatters against

the multi-storey car park wall,

vomited from the throat

of opulence at midnight.

 

Linking arms

to sing the Scottish song

in mock bonhomie.

 

The troubles of the world

Forgotten,

disrespected,

set aside until a more convenient time.

 

I sit here,

guilty as charged,

watching

millionaire musicians

plate their nests

with gold.

 

Somewhere else

there is violence.

People laugh.

People die.

 

Today.

Just like yesterday.

 

The old man

cuts the umbilical

of a new child

with a scythe.

 

Bells ring out.

Happy

              New

                           Year…