I see
The wrong-end
Of the morning, ugly
And grey are the
Faces as they
Stare blankly at
Their shoes as if
They are being spoken
To - two parents
For feet.
I look to mine
The left is mother
‘clean socks jack?’
‘no, not today’
‘more like
not this year’
I look to dad,
‘money troubles Jack?’
‘always dad, always’
Foot shakes from left
To right in what might be
Disapproval.
I look to the roofs
Of ancient buildings
And escape them
As they crush chewing
Gum and
Cigarettes
Deeper into the pavement.
