Beyond and Behind

Over the roof

And behind the wall,

I see the sky

Alone,

And I can see

Two roof tops

Poking up.

 

That is all.

 

Only the sky and them.

Anything else could be

Beyond and behind this wall.

Anything.

 

(Last night I got the phone call, the bad news.  This morning I arose with a moan, groggy, with a chalky mouth, and dry, scratchy skin. 

To work; these hours of the day are not owned by me.)

 

I continue to look

Over the roof,

I look beyond it.

 

Anything could be behind this wall.

Golden meadows,

With tall grass swaying

In the sun,

 

 Disused iron train tracks,

Cutting through

The hard brown earth.

Curling away into the world,

Determined to reach the horizon,

 

Tall warehouses stand around,

Gaunt in their expressions

While muttering in steel tones

Talk of girders and fire.

Not a human in sight.

 

Behind the wall could be a

Great mass of people,

All sitting in silence,

Serene,

Happy,

Calm.

A great library

Of races.

 

Those two roof tops

Which I see over the wall,

Could be the tips of

Great spires,

Monuments to some

Unknown ecstasy

Which travel far down into a

Valley or

Crater

Of which this wall sits at the edge.

 

While I stand here, smoking,

A respite from the grind,

The other side of this wall

Holds everything

I want to imagine.

 

Anything could be behind it.

Anything.

But there is nothing.

 

Cheese Salad

 

The Cheese Salad

seems to speak to me.

 

‘Cheese Salad’

 

The letters look desolate

and unhealthy,

Alone on the menu

which glows with

Bad light.

 

I wonder when was the last time

Someone ordered the

Cheese Salad.

 

The menu itself

looks old,

Used,

 

Hanging above the counter,

A banner that hasn’t been taken down

even though the party was years ago.

 

Everything could just be

bony remains.

 

 The Cheese Salad,

an attempt at health

in this dank meat house.

 

I don’t get it,

The Cheese Salad.

Who would?

From a place like this?

 

What I get is a mess of

Brown fiborous meat,

Stringy salad coated

In thin mayonaisse,

Like bird shit

In hair,

and

Shrivelled,

Destitute

Yellow chillis.

 

Still, I look at the word

‘Cheese Salad’ as I leave.

After tonight,

After saying goodbye,

Knowing the horrible truth,

After all this,

I look at the words on the menu,

Alone, unloved.