Treasure Island

thomas spence


Stories from my street (1rst draft)


Stories from my street



Behind the depths of car windows

The city moves at blurring speeds

Where enemies of the second glance

Merge into this fading, greying tapestry.



Slamming on the breaks,

And lifting my foot of the accelerator,

My Grandfathers’ words run through my head;



‘What’s the use of the world’s beauty?

If you forget it a moment later?



In my head I answer:



Carpe diem quam

minimum credula postero



With these words I take to the street

And go looking for its stories.



I see the fat cat manager,

Throw his pocket clinging coppers at the beggar on the street,



‘What’s the use of the world’s beauty?

If you forget it a moment later?



I see him swell like a peacock,

As he catches sight of his reflection in the puddle at his feet.



Carpe diem quam

minimum credula postero.



I hear the words of God

Rise and float above the chatter,



‘What’s the use of the world’s beauty?

If you forget it a moment later?



They were being thrown at me

By the halfwit, with the God-awful stutter.



Carpe diem quam

minimum credula postero



I heard the words of the Punjab being spoken,

Yet they filled with me with contempt and rage.



‘What’s the use of the world’s beauty?

If you forget it a moment later?



They were being mocked and scorned,

By the skinhead with the BNP badge.



Carpe diem quam

minimum credula postero



Tired, and later than I expected,

I arrive home to my grandfather’s house,

Where I’m greeted by the doctor.

I ask him what the matter is,

He said my granddad had died of a heart attack,

But someone could have saved him

If they had gotten there faster.



Carpe diem quam

minimum credula postero

Submitted: Friday, May 29, 2009

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