The suede-tongued teenager
Curses the light.
Sliding onto the pavement
From the shadow of her past,
She tip-toes to the “shop”
For the morrow’s rations,
Hiding from a summer sun
That cannot warm her bones.
Sounds of cars then birdsong,
Quickly disappear
Among the hum and sighs
Of the nine-to-fivers
That crowd the fume filled paths
As they scuttle past
The ghost,
Of the girl from number nine.
The denim-cloaked teenager
Sits like a cat,
At the edge of a curb.
On her street corner alter
She rolls illicit notes
Through finger and thumb,
Preying that the high priestess,
With her alcoholic visions,
Can save her soul
With pills and powders
To lift her anchor
And set her free…
…Until tomorrow.
Curses the light.
Sliding onto the pavement
From the shadow of her past,
She tip-toes to the “shop”
For the morrow’s rations,
Hiding from a summer sun
That cannot warm her bones.
Sounds of cars then birdsong,
Quickly disappear
Among the hum and sighs
Of the nine-to-fivers
That crowd the fume filled paths
As they scuttle past
The ghost,
Of the girl from number nine.
The denim-cloaked teenager
Sits like a cat,
At the edge of a curb.
On her street corner alter
She rolls illicit notes
Through finger and thumb,
Preying that the high priestess,
With her alcoholic visions,
Can save her soul
With pills and powders
To lift her anchor
And set her free…
…Until tomorrow.
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