Sunday night somewhere

We’re going to reach that point
where all things odd become my equal
the powers that watch over us will demand of us
a sequel and the roller blinds will come down
as sure as
the sun sets

a mill town
where education comes a poor second and
the water’s still brown
because the lead pipes are leaking
we think that it’s mother
but she’d never dream of giving birth
to poisons in the system
that only delay to destroy us
we’re food upon the plate and
they’re busy playing with us

I think we reached the point
but we

sailed off all the known charts
and ended up
in Acapulco
breaking our own hearts
over girls that
danced there for us
and we floated in the still air
drinking in the night time madness
where nothing ever moves unless
it’s bought and fully paid for
and I don’t know why

Northern town still calls me
when the light shifts in the evening
and the shadows that we cast all
pack their bags because they’re

I’d better leave here too
but I don’t know
do you?

© 2018, John Smallshaw.