And Garbage in the Rain
Poetry Writing Contest response
(Here’s my attempt at melancholy chant poetry)
Puffs of smoke create red herrings,
The puny child and his errands,
It’s hard to miss a subway fight
And garbage in the rain.
The little kid knows how to ride
A candle among thousand lights,
It’s hard to bear the weight of dreams
And garbage in the rain.
His lungs were filled with funny things,
A swelling upon his clipped wings,
Drowned by the immense whatever
And garbage in the rain.
Perhaps he should stop, take shelter,
By the urban stalls and call her,
He almost gives in to demons
And garbage in the rain.
Remiss of him to ingest one
Or two cigs before he has none,
Making room for fiery downpour
And garbage in the rain.
Murky innards need something more
Than the pay check and the candour,
He knows the many shades of wrong
And garbage in the rain.
In the drenched party he belongs,
Acquainted with the fuzzy songs,
Here by the door I wait for him
And garbage in the rain.
Thank you for reading.
