It is hard to describe

It is hard to describe

In broken English

The complexity of it

The simplicity of it

The lay of it on the land

The smooth irritation

Of its coarse vulgarity.

Farms have irrigation

The city has poor sanitation

Sad angels

Acclimatised to the stink

Everybody experiences

Life differently

The same.

Working for something

Other than nothing

Expecting more than

It is worth

Never getting it

Even when they do.

Primal screams

Are delivered free of charge

Scratching at the scabs

On scuffed knees

Grown-up children

Playing at mums and dads

Doctors and nurses

Pretending to know

When blindness is a disease

The light is always better on the other side.

Striving for more

Accepting less

Murders are planned

Committed and regretted

The innocent are charged

The guiltless are judged

Truths are massacred

Beneath layers of deception

Nobody today

Knows the whys and wherefores

Anymore than yesterday

Was always a day too far.

Rich men play at being human

Poor men wish they were

And in the corner

Of a dirty hall

A wise man plays the fool

To keep the voices quiet

As the air is turned blue

By the stupidity

Of it all.