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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
May 2017
Sub-routine
Zone six which is out in the sticks
a long way from citizen centre.
Prisoners trapped behind prisoners trapped,
hanging on to the straps that hang from the ceilings
on trains to the city.
This is Bermondsey calling
Bermondsey calling,
I am
falling
can't stand it.
This way to Thursday
and the same day as
that day
which is my way of saying
all days look alike.
Musical chairs
he's playing musical
chairs and he's staring at me,
is
lunacy the new normality?
I'm almost but not quite
the prisoner trapped and
it's not right
but
entertainment
is key to
survival.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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