7. Jan, 2017

In the Modern City

The past is catching up.
It brushes the hems of our coats
With dirty hands.
Guttersnipes and mud larks
Not so picturesque close to,
Begging by the cash machines.
Like their forbears,
They sleep in the dark
Of derelict buildings,
Smoking spice in their opium dens
And dying in fires
Lit by single candles,
Or other people, maybe.

Ruth Enright