SMALL WORLD TURNING
Once more round a weary sun
The solemn seasons
Tumble on
A requiem
A half heard song
There’s no time to sing along
Before the tune has passed
We’re Hardy weeds
We plant our flags
Squeeze the glory from the rags
Play out wars like parlour games
The end of days in 30 frames
History doesn’t want the names
Of such a z list cast
And London's busy raising Cain
In sweated streets of puddled rain
From Magdalene to Mary Jane
Here to Eton
Back again
The fairytales of dancing tongues
Silver spooned and leather lunged
Rip their way through betting shops
Through village halls and pay check drops
Through hard cash to the suburb stops
Another God damn camelot
And Laura got home late today
Working nights for daytime pay
What is it her mum used to say?
‘Well love you got to smile’
Laura wraps her baby safe
In borrowed clothes donated drapes
And when she looks into his face
She sees a million miles
Beyond the blue screen tin pot dreams
The shop front lives
The dreary memes
Of perfect skin
Miracle creams
And every twisted little scheme
A human mind can bend or dream
On into space where atoms spin
And stretch their watery phantom limbs
To join with others bonded in
The union and the burn
And as she looks she hears him stir
He moves his arms and moves the air
Which opens, stretching out in prayer
Through the future waiting there
And outward like a secret tide
Til elegant and amplified
The stars brush the sleep from their eyes
Look down through the endless skies
And hear the tiny mewling cries
Of a small
World
Turning