Abandoned; swaddled infant whimpers
in swaying cradle of civilisation,
parents propelled by poverty.

Dog-eared drachma dredged up once again,
left to tumble in the dust beneath the dusky
shadow of the impending troika.

Shabby-suits roam the poli, past
shuttered shops and clean-picked bins
while outside the city walls

the pungent swell of orange, olive
and lemon runs rancid beneath the
suffocating stench of creosoted hopes.

A country, peopled by thinkers
and philosophers, pitted, hollowed out
by each callous coal-tarred day.


Leave a comment

Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, Tercets

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s