Poem by James Atkins
The first touch of the morning,
diesel fumes turning the frost-smell blunt.
last night's storm diluted
in the muted roar of the garbage truck in the next street
Do you hear it?
The sunbeams on the silo,
magpies combing the new-mown lawn.
blackened chimneys spewing forth
plumes of petrochemicals, gently greeting daybreak.
Can you see it?
The slump of resignation
same job, same pay, same tomorrow
empty places and spaces made bearable
with game shows, and football, and food
Would you taste it?
The glory is not locked away,
the world mirrors perception and nothing.
Salvation's beauty reflected in locality's landscape,
in consequence, in damage, in despair -
Will you welcome it?
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