Friday, January 02, 2009

Redraft: To the Victors, the Spoils

This one used to be called "Facelifting", and was a bit of a dog's dinner (if you ask me). The new version is much better - and a possible contender for the epithet 'good' ...

To the Victors, the Spoils

Sprinting to work, late like the binmen, I spill
crusts and rinds into a bucket on my doorstep.
A fume of fungus spores lifts from the wastes
and ribbons me - golden strands to stain my neck.

As I wait for a bus in Mare Street I spot
a glass hearse hauled by plumed horses. Silver
handles deck the white, bouquet-topped coffin
stranded in the smog of rush-hour exhausts.

The bronze from my pocket will gift Hackney
Town Hall some fresh adornments: we only have
seven years to spruce our beloved corpse
before the world arrives for the viewing.

(do you notice a theme developing here?)

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