by Chris Jarvis
They talk of dreaming spires
sleeping beneath them is routine
Crammed into a shop front
derailed carriage lost steam
Through the spiralled alleyways
off the beaten track
A dampen sodden mattress
a man laid on his back
Face shines with aspiration
suited with bow tie
Hunched beside a road sign
an adolescent woman’s cry
Booming local economy
money earned and spent
A dozen doors closed shut
no pennies for the rent
The city of elites
is what we’ve learnt and told
Shuffling and shuddering
in the long December cold
Christmas was a sight to see
this year like no other
Just seventeen years old
a boy without a mother
An early Sunday morning
a forgotten church bell rings
Eyes avert the crisis
pray to think of other things
The monotony and futility
duration and the slow
They never did build it:
Jerusalem or Jericho
Featured image CCo
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