Flames Burn Quietly (Second Edition) Poem by Alistair Plint

...walked city concrete
most of the evening
(felt like an eternity on the soles)

saw park train station
busking dancers
-ladies topless
beaded ankle bracelets
on bare worn feet
rattling chants
for men in rubber mining boots
and hard hats
-keeping rythmic, tenor beats

turned down east street
giggled
in a northerly direction;
the stupidity of
road names without
a compass
or wise man's star

some future genius
had spray painted
"in the name of love"
under the word
"stop"
on the road

imagined a stop sign
all red and white
once lived on the
bent, empty pole

turned right
into president road
laughed
at the thought
no president would come here
even security police
would loose their
cars
and phones
to the stale eyes of poverty
in the cracked
tarmac
and missing man-hole covers

a lady walked passed abruptly

bumping me
to the road
from the fetid curb
she
dropped a note in my hand
in her haste

I froze
solid as a bronze statuette in fear

scared to read it
popped it in my pocket
briskly making the walk
a jog
to the out of town feeling

saw the old church
caught the bus
in the nick of time
(I think)

my watch was gone

that bashful lady
with the note
must've been late
for a very important date

fell into the vinyl
of the backseat
as that bus dropped it's clutch

took the folded paper from my pocket

in awe
she knew my name
it's printed neatly on the front
-spelled it right too;
though horror scores echoed
it mentions you
spells your name
as per your birth scroll

mulled silenced words
each letter
and how it fell to place

read it again...

"Employ your time"
it said
"in improving yourself
in other men's writings"


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