The Alcohol Swamp Poem by Jerry Pike

People roll their feet up,
paddling for lost balls,
how’s that?
Wags disguise the flirt of straying eyes,
as close to reality as they get.
…and life trickled
a lattice sun through.
New geese skimmed the mere,
dambuster fashion,
their first summer’s ahead,
jammed onto a fake beach,
with fake worlds.

The alcohol swamp is sinking, sucking,
words brighten and submerge in wine,
voices swell and swoon over a minute fact,
as the lake chain smokes.

Small boys target a drake, bread bullets,
spring daisies group beneath them,
one eye blind to the heat of this crucifying day.
A Persian family snapshot of
those foreigners abroad,
shimmers shadows off water, to a camera blink,
caught up in a British bank holiday.

A crop haired England shirt strokes his pitbull,
lager spanking his mind loudly awake.
Levi, he calls, Levi,
but the Jewish nation does not respond,
nor, does his clichéd dog.
Two distant blues sandwich a forest,
for loves far away young vagrants.
London accents crackle their coarseness,
journeying over spent glass chinks,
this lively Friday.

Tomorrow looks trampish,
hoody icons, trainer laces,
designer rose tattoos
with thorn pierced stems,
to reminisce on Jesus….
as the boulder rolls away.