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Spinney Hill Park
Grey, pock marked
with tufts of browning green,
the tarmacked hill,
descends between
grass green banks,
decorated with dog shit,
eponymous trees
bark of fragile silver
birch
wounded by the luv of Kaz for Moz,
to the play ground.
Where recently vacated swings
billow on creaking chains
that
twist and turn,
and roundabout
bedecked in council green
red rosed,
still squeaks around it's axis
propelled by absent scuffed shoes.
Here, during daylight's reign
innocence takes leave, unsanctioned,
from school rooms'
gloomy confines,
to run and shout,
to laugh
and play
among unnatural blooms
of brightly coloured shiny paper
wrappers.
Running and sliding
on paths worn dry
by countless
school shod feet,
the Brians and Normans
Kathys and Jackys
spit,
show knickers
to old men
who sit and smoke.
When hours tip toe
day light in to evening
and innocence is
tucked up safe in bed,
they enter like the dead
through gap toothed railings
council black,
gold speared.
Their pale faces keen with expectation.
Will tonight
be different?
The longed for moment when
they give their all?
In
consummation of their lust,
he deposits his immortality
she receives her
ticket
to council housing,
or some one to love
While, in shadow
shrouded,
unseen, unheard
the watcher watches,
marking their
performance
out of ten,
or awarding E for effort,
taking his
pleasure
single handed . |