Wreckage #2

1. After a Lie

Where did we find the truth?
Was it hidden like a dog’s bone
Or locked up in a safe?
No, we had the truth inside us,
Among bold imposters,
Two-faced traitors, hello-sayers,
Turn-awayers and big,
Brooding, faceless men, stood like stones.

How did we find the truth?
As a malnourished little wretch
With scrawny legs, pale flesh
And eyes which shone like broken glass,
Murmuring of cousins
That she claimed still walk about us
In their black and white clothes,
With elegance or leaden steps.

2. Idle Afternoon

Lazing by the sun-burnt rynek
Where the Devil left the ashes
We are cooled by frozen yoghurt
And an air-conditioned cafe.

Up above, the birds are flying
In long, slow, elegant circles.
“Did you hear something, love?” you ask.
“No, I didn’t. No. Nothing. No.”

3. His Chains and Ours

As people jeer and curse the man
I think of hot, loud, sweaty streets
Where some men talked of fruit and tits
As others wandered to their deaths.

About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Wreckage #2

  1. Sabiscuit says:

    This is going to sound flippant, but I loved that this had three parts. So much truth rings through each line. You work has done justice to poetry. I enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing.


  2. BD Sixsmith says:

    Thank you very much, Sabiscuit. I’m glad you enjoyed it.


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