So now doors have been bolted,
And street scenes assured,
And all the sense of previous weeks
Has shed itself of us.
Blinds across the road have closed,
As others have been since new,
Protecting us from their inhabitants
Groomed disapproval,
As she got scraped up off the pavement
By the coppers last summer
Whilst being under nourished
And drunk,
And is now hiding inside,
With her bleeding gums,
And accusing me of
Stumbling.
At least I won’t have to look
At the ugliness of it
Whilst attempting a
Resolution’s remit,
And try my damnedest to
To remember, as the chaste
Have always done, how the lives
Of others are inviolate.
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