the saturday window

11/20/04

the note
of this afternoon is a pale
one, bland like steamed dirt
and bitter like bile,
the dead land and weakened sky
swirling together in the contrasting flight
that streaks towards the bigger city
and the bolder life
which holds its colors close
and guards them like a child -
so much spicemusic we never hear
in a land of English cuisine!
and again
all our ethnicity drains away
into the urban scene
leaving only us,
the remnants of today,
bangers and mash