Rickety Riot
The theatres come to town
at
corners and turnings and straights
pavement
and kerbside and where else
you’d
care to look-
is
a dead show
of
bones- rackety rickety riot
in streets
dead
men in dry bodies
their
juice of life sucked
along
with humility and care
like
skeletons on stilts their walk
these
bombs timed to implode
like
bees on their death dance
tired
from overwork and
the
work hardly done-
waiting
to crumble to the ground
and
scatter their worthless dust
on
the forgetful earth.
They
can salvage nothing for it was
All
they carried- rotting rickety bodies
And
their souls were long dead
Though
the men walked.
They
were dead.
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