Early Loss

The street is small-town grey.

Doors closed. Shuttered.

Peeling signs peeling.

Grimy windows.

Hand-prints, smudged.

Sauce. And blood

There are no specials.

Not today. Not now.

There are ghosts, too.

Of the workers.

They came here from school.

All new cellphone and gel.

On a minimum wage.

Remember, he said:

finish the deal.

Yeah. Nah. As if.

They left, one after the other.

Left behind the hope.

The amateur patter.

They saw life’s trick.

Did their heads in.

It did. Really.

4 thoughts on “Early Loss

  1. the last 9 lines are my favourite….the image of a rundown section of street in Waimate comes with the poem, and numerous small north island towns

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