Night Of Ruins
Into the petulant night of dubious rebellion she runs hair
flowing, true as a
thin steeled dart on bare feet - lifting the latch onto mistaken fields of
concrete freedom finding
endless exile in that sudden sense of metallic
staccato sprung fuses - she slumps but another anonymous
scar her head of long
hair billows lifeless as any other tumbleweed in the promised poisoned
pestilence of the Night Of Ruins,
Red Dust
On the steps behind the garden gate he sat, small dark eyed boy compact and
steely as a newly minted dart coiled in the exile of his mothers dubious fear.
Outside others shouted, kicked unseen stones in the red baked earth - he watched
as billows of joy drifted through the latch until a boy chasing a soccer ball
came to the gate and waved him on - petulant, dubious, rebellion puffed his
sparrowed chest and dark eyes dancing he quickly lifted the latch and ran onto
the red rousted dust as fuses sprung and all was glinting metallic, a boy arm,
a shower of red rock, a sneakered foot, the soccer ball, all collateral damage,
scar on the land - this now gone boy once safe behind the grated gate now mixing
with the red dust.
