Skip to content

Buttershaw, South Bradford

January 11, 2018


Buttershaw, her love spreads. On
summer days, melted and translucent,
she’s a glistened river. Her grace, a
keenness for peace, can hush restless
children to fall asleep on filthy sofas, a
sighed drift down to Mandalay’s shore.

In the churches of Sunday morning,
she’ll pray for purity, tinned fruit and
custard. For those as broke as power,
she’ll steal from the shop girls on Boltby,
who are always blind eyed, smiling, kind.
They know that hunger was never a crime.

Just after sunset, she’ll ignite a single
monochrome firework. Here come the
heartbroken hooded eyes longing for relief.
This, the only love when hours ink a day black,
and blacker still, hastening moonless chemical
nights that drown her deep in Mandalay’s dreams.


From → Uncategorized

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: