Wasteland Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

It dripped the stone
it dripped a beat then missed one,
I went back for it everything
muddled in the puddled rail bridge
prison dank leaned my bike against
unfriendly push back wall
a white bread sandwich gleaming
in a wrapper, some kid had surely thrown down
you dont look good in the playground
with a sandwich made by your mum
the white triangles white as the
wings of a wounded dove
the bloated steel drops of cars
hissed by all amplified by the arc
of dark and I thought of the hand
that had opened, taken the knife from the drawer
and cut
a workman would have been more careful
no it was a child who had cast someones
love aside
careless and with a hint
a drizzle of spite