I do not wish to suffer but suffer I
must
Cursing my ill luck and the mad
excesses
Of a selfish insensitive owner
Obsessed with destruction, both mine
and his;
Occupying a spot here in the High
Street
Opposite the Courthouse and its
official Clock
An eyesore, a common talking point
Squeezed between more fashionable
premises
Which seem always to frown and
grimace
Expressing major reservations,
unambiguous opposition.
Housing curios, oddments and
selected modern junk
We sell little, our few customers
dribbling in
Only to supplement their journeys
while waiting on the bus
Or to eye with a morbid curiosity
That sickly creature seated behind the
counter
My luckless tyrant of an owner
Against whom all conspire
Who seriously in debt, is helpless,
cannot pay up
Hounded interminably by mysterious
moneylenders
Who after giving a little now expect a
whole lot in return.
With fuel running low for my boiler
My heating system, it is unreliable
Volatile, treacherous in Winter
My ventilator rusted through
Erratic at best, chronic in Summer
The damp in the walls and ceiling
The dry rot, the wallpaper peeling
Encouraged by years of neglect
Of being used, unscrupulously
tampered with,
In need now of meticulous care and
attention.
My owner truly a derelict, a dissipated
soul
Spending more time in the cellar with
a bottle
Than on any other shop floor level
(Among his friends, the mice, the
cockroaches and spiders)
Who trying to stay awake, eventually
must capitulate
Caught by that Ghost Ship that drifts
slowly North
To where the icebergs loom large and
ominous out of a damning fog
It's compass frozen, it's wheel
unmanned
Nothing but shadows and wind in the
rigging
As he floats off into oblivion, off the
edge of the earth
Where exist such shapes that can
never be said.
II
Is peculiar though, my owner
At times displays a certain poise and
grace
Hinting at a time in the not too distant
past
Which was not altogether bad or
harmful
But unusual as it might seem
Was quite on the contrary, fruitful !!
Him featuring as being both proud
and distinguished
Far removed from today's pitiful
wretch
Whose solitary doubts and fears have
all but taken over.
And maybe I do find it hard to
sympathize
I after all being the one offered up
now in sacrifice
Him there with little joy, love or hope
With only complaints and grievances
mounting up
Filed away in offices at City Hall.
III
Whereupon the hour, every hour, the
Courthouse Clock it chines
Ever vigilant, ready to track it's quarry
down
Where in the corridors of power this
very moment
City fathers, town planners and
architects have gathered
To discuss whether our future lies in
this town
To argue out the case, the for and the
against;
While below the vile demolition man
he stalks my borders
With his heart of ice and ghastly
drunken laugh,
No! I do not wish to suffer
Indeed, I wish I could be like any other.
A slice of the macabre. Was written after reading a biography of Edgar Allen Poe/which had an affinity with my own life at the time. The Shop is the Body who berates its dissolute owner (the dissolute Soul), bemoaning its fate. There's a whole host of characters here, the Demolition man is Death, the City fathers etc are the gods etc, the boiler is the heart, the ventilator the lungs, the Courthouse is Conscience/ Judgement, whatever ???, the Ghost Ship the dreams/ nightmares ;I love creating worlds where you can set the rules, it's up to you to put a label on things 'cos I'm not sure myself.