ROOTS

                    1

Celebrity and freeman of the town
I am hell bent on rest and relaxation
of body and mind, while the blood
thickens, and the jaw freezes over.
Weighty minds lie still. And the
steady measure, that is progress,
is ignored - while I detox.

                    2

From the balcony I can look across
To the Devil's Washtub.

I cannot though, fathom its depth, nor hear
the head banging in its caverns.

But the pathways climbing to its summit
are clearly marked.

And though I cannot see, or hear it,
I know that the throat is convulsed.

                     3

Only the fabric of the once warring faiths
stands unscathed.

They say that, "time marches on", but not here
in these bedraggled streets.

The Crescent is toothless, the life
having gone from its mouth.

And the gulls, silent, sway, and muse
on the varicosed promenades.

There are people about, but their existence
seems hum drum.

So we must wait, and hope for an eruption
while the dead are clinging to life.

__________
 ©  Cormac McCloskey
These poems first appeared in my blog of the same name.