People say

People say

You shouldn’t wait

For something to happen

You should force its hand

Walk toward it

Meet it head-on

Whatever it is.

Death

Is the only thing

We can be sure of

In a world of difference

The ground

Will never

Rise up to meet you

But it will

Hit you full in the face

Feel the force of it

When you fall

Hard into the concrete.

The smell of vomit

And bad choices

Splashed up

Onto the walls of dark alleys

Where business is done.

Nothing is clean

The cats

Are always on the prowl

For fresh meat

To dice.

Death brings its own

Sorry smell

Dog walkers

Foul the pavement

Pretty lights hang

In a row

Flashing brightly

In welcome or a warning.

Heaven’s Gate

Is in the basement

Everything is a pretence

Happiness is a disguise

The truth is never

As honest as you found it

Lying under canvas

Pushed into the gutter

Hosed down come morning.

Just above head height

Graffiti sings

To a different tune

Nobody comes out

Of this story

Smelling of roses.

Garage bought flowers

That’s all he could spring for

She stuffed them in the bin

He wondered why

There were better vases

In the cupboard

A better verse

In the card.

He has walked the streets

He knows trouble

It is a lesson

He has never learned

Not many do.

Bonfires warm the hands

Of the broken-hearted

Defeated soldiers

Runaways

Steet fighters

And repeat offenders

On the lam

Who have never learned

To play the system

Or beat the odds.