Posted in Love

Floored

Every metropolis, every city, every town
has a hierarchy –
pyramid,
smaller = steeper.

They said the population on a good day
was 200 or 300
give or take a hundred. It didn’t matter
everyone knew her parents ranking.
I or 2
probably 1.
There were rumours
stories of a wilful teenager
high spirits or habits or vice – spite could choose.
I’d never been witness
but listened and wondered
until I saw the Community Centre …. and didn’t.

Trashed.
Condomed.
Bottled.
Roached.
Body waste-d.

Sarah from the committee ignored it all :
the overcast stench
the nihilistic eruptions 
the graffiti of disrespect –
the only person not outraged or schadenfreude-d
“Poor Katey, she’s only 16,
and done it all ……
she’s got nothing to look forward to.”

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Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.