Are you going anywhere nice, and, or, special?
A journey in some places may incorporate sewer pipes.
You’ll have lunch in the intricately fashioned building
which stands for so much history? It can be difficult,
to leave your mother, locked behind mountains.
Yes, this new road scheme, like a solar system,
seems to help the contraflow of ideas, point to point.
My children know the weight of a gun, and
how to handle the promises it can whisper.
I think you’ll find that most people are shopping
for things they don’t really need. The iridescence
of that new emporium is expert and severing
strangers from their earnings with great efficiency.
Don’t worry, everyone knows that the system is broken,
the winds blow things into sharp corners, under moon blink,
while stars hiss in our ears. Yes, we are all pushing uphill,
scattering ourselves out in orbits of dust, getting lighter by the day.
People admit things here, especially after dark, at twilight,
confessions all come blurting out.
Apologies for the sudden
tilt and swerve, it was an oval stray – pattering, mapping
boundaries; a tiny hedgehog. I think that everything deserves to live.
Alison Jones is a teacher, and writer with work published in a variety of places, from Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry and The Interpreter’s House, to The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. She has a particular interest in the role of nature in literature and is a champion of contemporary poetry in the secondary school classroom. Her pamphlet, ‘Heartwood’ was published by Indigo Dreams in 2018, with a second pamphlet. ‘Omega’, and a full collection forthcoming in 2020.