Drizzle In DoncasterA Poem by Devons
Waiting, soaked to the skin, no room in the shelter
for that miserable little bus, the nation's little helper
to pull you out from this day of grey
this dreary alternative to the Book of Revelations
Judgement is the cold, studied drizzle
and the silent resignations
that this is life and this is real
and this is God's way.
Heading home on the bus-seat, slithering damp against your legs
the reeking scent of sweat from humanity's dregs
him coughing, her sneezing, anonymous wheezing
recovering from existence and another day of business
longing for the fire-side and little kettle boiling
the closest you will come to Biblical forgiveness
thus, the only Heaven that you can imagine
this, the only Hell you know, numbing and freezing.
And once upon a time, in your cosy teenage room
the rain beat on the window like a heartbeat on a womb
foetally-curled, warmed against the world
the false, loving sense of your own security
dreaming from your bed to adolescent tunes
callow be thy name in your wistful immaturity
but innocence is bliss one day
the next, to be unfurled.
And as you smear the condensation to peer through dirty glass
and crack a smile at the smutty world and filthy blurs that pass
you think all God can teach you is how to survive
not how to kick and not how to thrive
but to buckle and bend
and just stay alive.
© 2010 Devons
Shelved in 3 LibrariesAdded on July 15, 2010
Last Updated on July 19, 2010
Plymouth, Plymouth, United Kingdom
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