031103

1am

The Weekend

At one moment I asked the cab driver about the item
Hanging from the rear-view mirror. He told me it was a
Koranic prayer to safeguard against accidents.
A one word mumble - ‘Good’ - was all I could reply.

Earlier Shoreditch had been the accident waiting to happen.
A wrong-haired riot of passing beauty, as ever, only more so.
A friend swearing a song of betrayal as you let the sucker
Punches disturb a balance you knew you’d long-time lost.

But to milk this is poor practice. They’ll come and they’ll go
And one day they’ll be an old belt in the cupboard
Or a scrawl of a note in a book not read in years. Our value
Is but a moment and then it’s done, an accident of history.

[Some you’ll cry for harder than the rest, some will
Save tales for their children and a few will curse
The things you gave. Others wake from a chaotic dream,
Scratching their head trying to pin down your name.]