Abandoned takeaway

Abandoned Takeaway

Tossed from a roundabout onto a carriageway

On Saturday’s ding-dong on nightlife’s roundelay

Casting up fish and chips bespreading motorways


When learning counting numbers perhaps his mother taught him

Sung in a solo to him – as to me – to you?

We warriors muddle through

Not much improved by wretchedness in others

Wrapped up and conformable and comfortable

Comforted by our troubles, travels,

A little nice our sufferance at the common irritations

Which warm us as we hoard them


A private social whirl hard drives, survives, attentions

Our world in virtual surround

Aye, we go walking never seen to meet a shiver

In thought; ‘here lies a sister, there a brother lay’

Or some-such other bother laid-on dearer, nearer home

Comfort’s a scarce commodity, a deep mine course,

Resource depleted

Whiles costing us the earth; the poet says ‘not less than everything’

To the very bottom of the heart, the barrel’s scrapings:

Catch, go catch, go whistle friend, the wind


This comforting we live out under hatches confers not

A comforting

Distempered temporal padding of convenience memory-foam

Asphyxiating thought, it billows down and closes

A fire-retardant damper and our living tomb

A headstone on our hopes and cares for common comfort

A tunnel in the dark we enter-in to shelter-from

A signal touch of pain

Which is a symptom working in the morbid brain

Assuming its terrain

Offloading former

Chimeras; and no climbers’ crampons may the firmer

Clamp than we the best insurance stake for reassurance

Loads, buttercups and daisies linking coming through the rye

Outreach to make-believe sings naked choral lay

Reprising every interim; pretensions’ wanderlust  

A local global by-pass passing parcels; cynosures

Regale, enjoin us,


Who take the culminating coins affirm them genuine

Walk-out displayed in handsome wardrobes, in the pink and puffed

Lest death still staying, slaying, lingers, hungers after

Our droves, pure drones, so comfortable;

Makes roads once safely, temperately, metalled

Highways otiose; unsettles,


And so we blunder-on along lanes, exit-routes fore-shuttered

Advancing in the cool, the rule, of hooded prudence

Wool-over-eyes, parameters misprized disguised

As not to know ourselves, nor any comfort

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