Bright Spark
The hollow fireplace glints, in our
Artificial earth tones and our open plan
Throughway, carrying us all the way through life.
A nouvelle ready meal on a ruby ceramic hob.
The veranda overlooks a boardwalk
Weaving in perpendicular angles and
Surrounded by pearls of bulbs, cowering
Proudly amidst the freshest air in our district,
Ours aren’t the sort of plans that go out
Like a light.
Shadows throw shadow puppets
Over the walls, we are surrounded
By amateur dramatics. Us bright sparks
Invent flames from dusty cupboard,
Flail flints and grunt contentedly.
We channel hop blank screen
Confused at own expressions
Of stone.
Nothing changes when the light returns,
The electrician waltzes up the pylon, sheer like a flagpole
In a tuxedo of rippling, stained white and darkness.
We still survey our lands to see whether
The neighbourhood is a riot of light
Or whether the plush peasants have
Control.
Commended in the Foyles Young Poets of the Year Award 2010
Liked or faved by...
