The Suited

Pin striped
Pinned down
Stuck in for good measure
To secure it
To stop it dancing away

When the winds came
The sand storms
The dustbowl builders
With their jet fuelled
Wrecking balls

I watched the tiny thread
Pulled from the weave
Out of step
Out of line
Out of time

With the charcoal and white
Tramlines down your arms and legs
You hollared
And you persuaded
Such powers of dutiful reasoning

If only hindsight
Were a gift
You guffawed
And when they called it
I listened

And I built the towers
Of miniature bones
Bleached by the sun
Splintered by the freezing
Tarpaulin Winters

My head with no room left
For more rip and pulling
The ceramic bowl sped up to greet me
The water chill, my face hot
An acid in my throat, never leaving

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