Prefab plots abut a mausoleum
for discarded cars, where hulks rust
cheek by jowl with scars
sustained in concourse by young dragsters.
Metal skeletons subside, in darkness
groan like dying knights.
Residents of prefab homes –
the almost-indigent, the old –
hear muffled battles in their sleep,
the armoured clank as rivets part,
thud of hoofbeats as stray horses
flee inert machinery.
Morning crows have learned to shun
the wrecking yard’s monotony,
its flat grey tedium of sky,
the paucity of carrion.
From prefab porches, some survey
a set attempted for a play,
a post-suburban 'Camino
Real' that didn’t make the stage,
but petered out where
nowhere snubs modernity:
corroding monumental frieze
pays homage to grotesquerie.
A crow-forsaken place
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109122401933
Свидетельство о публикации №109122401933
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