Bonesack

Gold cherry

By Ewan

Fri, 21 Feb 2020
  • 1392 reads
5 comments
 

 

Two-layer dressed

in a four-layer wind,

Maggie haunts the doorways.

No-one hangs coffee here,

‘Hanging’s too good for ‘em’.

Whoever 'them' might be.

There, but for the grace

of money and shelter,

go you and I.

 

Under the sightline,

never a headline

in the newspapers

down the trouser legs

and ripped puffa sleeves.

 

Have you noticed?

The last family-run

electrics shop in

Anytown

has no TV

in the window.

 

Maggie has.

 

Part-time police

move her on,

politeness itself,

minus eye-contact.

It’s the doorway

at B & M tonight.

 

‘Maggie carries the bones

of her parents in her sack,’

the children whisper as

they pass not one, but

two, bone-sacks.

 

*More about 'Four Feet Under' and Tamsen Courteney here

Certificate U
Poem
Days Like These
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Wonderful photos in that link too - thank you Ewan. 

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I was going to cut and paste a favourite verse but there kept being more, nothing not sharp enough to hold a cross together. Last night on bbc world service Assignment was about people in California who sleep on the Night Bus, they call it Motel 22. The unlucky ones can't afford the bus fare. Even though if California was a country it would be the 5th richest in the world because of the tech companies. This is a great poem, should be read a LOT

 

Submitted by airyfairy on

An important, sad and angry poem - this is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day.  Please do share it round, and do follow the links to information about the book.

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Some nice wordplay, Ewan. Or word association, maybe. It creates a flow, maybe a disruption that suits the situation. Tripping over itself. So it ought to, given its role as mirror to us all. I try to catch people's eye or say hello. Not always easy. Not always foremost in my mind. Thanks for putting the link on.

Parson Thru

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

It's an all too familiar scene here in New York, Ewan. And that's part of the problem. It's so familiar that you forgoet there are actualy people behind those faces. Like Kevin we need to keep telling ourselves to pay attention. This should not be considered normal. Wonderful poem. 

Rich