Rock pool

No doubts as the
neon lights illuminate the dried
-up creek bed.
The veil, an abomination.
White jazz is playing as
children crawl onto her lap.

The
disabled daughter is
shunned by the elders. Heartless.
Tattoo:- horror for the sanctimonious.
Autumn winds
leave me to choke
on the words caught in my throat.

Don’t swap her coloured shards
for new songs
with swollen tongues!
His prayer bead counting drives me mad;
makes me think of woolly mammoths
and carbon taxes.

Soon dissent
and the crescent moon will light the
road to hell
Unless….
friendly winds blow.
Hope will always be the colour of Spring for me.