Sunday, 14 April 2013

mild frenzy

they lined up
in their smart suits and executive hair
outside the foundation stone
of a nations ruin ready to eulogise
to heap praise upon a legacy
of division

the traffic slowed
and the tempers frayed in a burg
where there is never enough
most had left by 8PM
save one expecting maybe
a ghost?

returning at the earliest light
most had moved into town
I popped my head inside a truck and said
"she's still dead you know"
one yet remains
awaiting the stone to roll back

my wife, the daughter of a miner,
council bread and margarine raised,
nods, obligingly, at the checkout
as she scans the customers cloying praise
"its nice about the flowers isn’t it"
yes” she replies “they look great on my fireplace

she reads people writing
the miners were greedy and she spits
"tell that to those with emphysema,
white knuckle and crippled joints
go stand by the graves of the hundreds that died
better still come here and say it to my face"

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