The Ballad Of John O'kelly Poem by Chris Zachariou

The Ballad Of John O'kelly



Night has fallen on the streets.
Hustlers, dancers and musicians
and all who know the seedier side
of city life begin to drift to work.

Older men steal greedy glances
at teenage girls in low-cut tops
and youngsters full of lust
head for the clubs and bars of Soho.
New lovers meet, old loves kiss
and the smell of sex is hanging in the air.

Fragile and home-sick foreign girls
—almost children —
begin once more their life of shame.
Bewildered and afraid
they lean in darkened doorways
to sell their bruised and battered bodies
on dirty beds in dingy basements
and in seedy rooms above.

The forsaken many gather at the bridge
to spend another night in cardboard city.
Their stories never told— from a baby girl
or baby boy to a drunken mess with nothing
in their wretched lives but a flask of meths.

Three in the morning.

A furious dog is barking in the distance
a cruel lover is abandoning another
and a man walks softly into the bedroom
of his sleeping and betrayed wife.

John O'Kelly drinks himself into oblivion
needing to forget Veronica.
Once, she said she would stay for ever
but as she was promising undying love
she was opening their door to leave.

All is quiet at this hour except for the sound
of those hurting and of all who lost all hope
and of the sound of Johnny's body
floating quietly down the Thames.

Saturday, June 8, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: death,life,loneliness
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