Efft

The loudest voice eats all the words
Now there’s nothing left to breathe
So, silently, we all leave the room
Holding the courage to speak
In polite gasps for air
At the end of the street.
They don’t notice the effort it takes
To activate the on-switch
Internal processor whirring
It’s an old analog tape machine
Cutting and splicing phrases and
Looping the repetitive nods
Cyclical cylinders
Compressing far too much dust
It sticks gamely to the tubes
Till enough trapped air builds
The pressure to burst
Explosive relief of
An introverts scream
Destructive, unseen
Politely aggrieved

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Efft

Rust

Slowly slithering
Round gentle corners
Drafty machines
With gaps between
Train and platform
Edging through
Overgrown bushes
Soggy housing
Estates done in
Gather round
Lakes of bilge
Hear the fortune
Teller close another
Industrial relic
Can still taste the
Metal in the air
Rusted out workers
Pull apart their limbs
Waiting for replacements
While the rain seeps
Through the window
Onto the seats

Rust

Underpass

Crystals reflect off the flickering lights
Fat fingers roll over another paper
Another cold, dark winter evening
Nothing doing for teenagers
Except the sickly sweet smoke
Rising from below the road
Underpass√© graffiti. “I woz ‘ere”
Small town tagging, not quite
The wit to make it onto talent shows
But these aren’t our words
We shield flames
With our cupped hands
Gather outside a solitary shop
Joke about sticking the place up
Boisterously demonstrate
Lacking amenities to pass time
Adults skulk past, step into their cars
We glimpse at our older selves
Give them a two fingered salute
As a parting gift

Underpass

A Generalisation of Demographics

Tomorrow is just another step
On a platform. Train coffee
Weeps down chequered seats
Last centuries style
Catch a glimpse of a grey hair
Sprouting through despite
The cuts I’ve made each day
A book hangs loosely
From my other hand
I’m reading about demography
Trying to understand why punching
People who smile is assault
But siphoning off money is encouraged
I wash my hands again
In that dirty sink
Blood red, veins dark blue
Losing is a learning curve
Hanging vertically from a tall tree
Drying out till the resolve
To remain active withers
In the light breeze

A Generalisation of Demographics