With blizzard swirl outside my frame
I hope there’s salt in gravel bin –
just where black glass controls the hill,
the cars dance ballet, solo twirls.
They travel by, beyond control,
despite the rule to stay inside,
though their own journey, driven goal,
threatens walls and us inside.
It leaves a taste – I want to spit,
community ignored by one,
till dilettante spreads to some,
then sum of all is chaos crowned.
So what of range I’ll meet this year,
on screen, perhaps some face to face,
those shielding, here, behind the bricks
and more careering past grit box?
Sweet and sour, with bitter, salt,
umami for those glutamates,
each gathered, balanced in the mix,
will all swim by my mother tongue,
before I swallow, having chewed
both roughage and the nutrients.
But whether waste, obesity,
or energy to serve the world,
they’re all ingredients composed
within this commonwealth of flesh.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church, has had some 250 pieces published by 40 publishers – on-line poetry sites, including Poetry Potion, printed journals and anthologies. https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/