Country Hall

Here where the run down fountain drips limestone stalks
Here where forgotten champagne buckets filled with rust-rainwater
And bobbing fag ends suck in the spirits of nature
Here where baby moorhens on black plastic pond, swim
Where the golf course dribbles down to distant coal plants
And the flowers awkwardly crowd in beds, protected
Here where grey haired pastel-shirts limbering stand
And wait their turn, tight trousered
And people take their customary measure of alcohol
Here where old ladies stare ravenous at grey rabbits and their ipad
And fake tan clogs the drains with soot
And the sky is cut with gleaming plane
Here where the bathrooms surge with mirrors,
And the figures inside them also monied surge
In one of two generalised models.
Here in a manor turned asylum turned hotel
Here in England
Here is where Luther ran aground,
And Caesar’s achievements can be found
Rammed with petty robber barons
Whom they have been taught to be.
And you and me, and the family.
Upwardly mobile, up the scaffold.
Here where dead painted doll faces loom behind the bar.
Here where it opens up beneath my feet
And the noise grows deafening.

Published by

capuchin

Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

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