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  • ben--taylor0


Updated: Jul 27, 2021

Food house, watering hole, welcome Smiley smiles, rehearsed I reckon

The Highland hotel,


Drawn, like moths,

to a light that switched

Chimney, castle, tower and fort Civilisation, so I thought

The white rooms, with black curtains Dusty carpets, of clan tartans

Straight cut, tapered, with white edges Lawn order, and bright green hedges

A lone hawthorn, twisting skyward Sparrows drop, to breadcrumbs scattered

Fenced off, bordered up,

the property

Square rooted,

in the land of He

Heavy tarmac, sinking its weight Heavy traffic, pushing it's fate

Sterile surface, plasticated Signs and warnings, laminated

Shiny, empty,

umbrellas sigh

Birds flutter

between roof and sky

The cigarette box

puff's the ends


the message it sends

Even cut,

but forged in battle

No longer

a cage to rattle

The well groomed dog, pulling it's lead The cats judgements, so guaranteed

Plants in buckets,

food in a box

The new

out-of-order jukebox

A weathered bag, the ruffled look A sun-bleached stare, the eyes that duck

The noble flag droops, midges dance Jacket zipped, the hunched sitting stance

Sun hits the tiles, they crack and creak Distant hills blue, silent, they speak

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