Creosote


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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.

 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, Tercets

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