Night bus to Harlem

Traps set to trap us
the trappings we all think
we need
and
while the sand’s running out
we’re all off out
looking for more traps
to trap us.

I retreat
back into the shell
let the sea swallow me
no one could tell
I was here at all.

Naked came I
and naked I’ll go

if ya wan’ bling and ting
shackled by a golden ring
to tie yourself,
but by yourself
be my guest
this conch not impressed

belongs to belongings?
be longing before too long to long for more.

I’ll never understand it
If I live to be ninety or senile
so
no use in me trying
at least I’m not dying
for the latest
for the new improved greatest
for the next generation before this
one is over

at best at my worst
I am cursed
by
never asking the
right questions.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.