No particular reason

We live in a society and culture in which the ‘powers-that-be’ favour the haves, the go-getters, those who inherit wealth and privelege, profit-motivated big-business, and at the same time largely ignore the underclass of struggling, disadvantaged, ‘ordinary’ working (or non-working) people, because favouring the haves, the priveleged etc. inevitably creates this very underclass by means of hoarding wealth and privelege rather than sharing it out. All too often the struggle becomes too great for some people at the bottom of the heap. This is the kind of situation my poem seeks to highlight. A dark tale: be warned. ( If you have seen it, you might remember Ken Loach’s film, ‘I, Daniel Blake’ here.)

It is the second ‘specular’ poem I have written and put up on this site; that is, where the second stanza is a mirror of the first. See also my poem, ‘Dresden, 1945.’

 

No particular reason

 

There was no particular reason                                                                     traffic on flyovers

that made him slice his wrists open.

It was just another routine day,

the scent of lilac from suburban gardens,

the taste of traffic fumes assaulting the lungs,

the woeful world in its cage of steel and glass.

The children were in school learning to fail,

his wife was in hospital, scrubbing the floors.

Another limp trudge to the Job Centre,

all of the windows screaming money and sex.glass skyscraper

Every slick promise was on special offer.

Under the thundering concrete bridge

the ravenous river ferried him down,

as the shard of window glass opened a vein.

 

As the shard of window glass opened a vein,

the ravenous river ferried him down

under the thundering concrete bridge.

Every slick promise was on special offer,

all of the windows screaming money and sex.

Another limp trudge to the Job Centre.

His wife was in hospital, scrubbing the floors.

The children were in school learning to fail,

the woeful world in its cage of steel and glass,

the taste of traffic fumes assaulting the lungs,flyover and river

the scent of lilac from suburban gardens.

It was just another routine day

that made him slice his wrists open.

There was no particular reason.

©  dave urwin 2016

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About jadedmountain

I am a poet, living a rural life in south-west Wales. The purpose of this blog is to publicise my poetry.
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One Response to No particular reason

  1. Paul Steffan Jones says:

    Thanks for this Dave. I am glad to have quit the career that was located in offices mentioned in your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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