What can I show you in this town..
The drear of horizons blocked,
tired light slumping over callous concrete cubes.
The background smell of estuary mud,
God forbid we scratch the surface, let the stench out.
Broken men in stained trousers walk their dogs
House, shop, cigarettes, cider.
Wind , trying to carry the scent of green, merely stirs the dead hopes that writhe drily in the gutter, earthworms caught in the sun .
Women sit, brightness long faded, waiting for daylight to cough its way through misery stained-glass.
Cathedrals of emptiness echo hollow, as the wait for nothing to happen drags by.