New Featured Poem

The Diners And The Killers

The diners and the killers sit side by side
Touching, breathing, eating, seeing only what can be seen
No one here hides, tells, speaks ill of their dead
Their minds shaped by red, brandy, the girl across the street,
barmen, waiters, waitresses, wives, husbands, money and the people they meet

In each others eyes they see only themselves, their fears, their inner lies
The lack of power, sapping and slipping away on this very ordinary day
They sip strong coffee, chew soft toffee, and eat slimy burgers with ketchup red and nice
In this smoothness, this moment, there are no desires
No endless lies, no smart arsed young kid shouting, laughing, as they walk on by

This place has neutrality, the diners and the killers breathing the same air, this, their air
Naturally, carefully, slowly, with precision, with coolness, with time shifting from side to side

This haven for down and outs, well healed, cold manic men and women
Who on other days are sensibly controlled lovers, fathers, mothers, tramps, sick, well, professional
This sanctuary has it all, has seen it all, is it all, knows it all
The sobbing, the condolences, the bleeding from the nose, the shaking, the headaches
The eating, the thinking grazers who have come, sit, glance slowly through murky, dirty windows
The Diners and the killers, sit side by side, smile, nod in friendly recognition of their lives
Their worlds firmly, securely, locked, tight, deep within, inside


Written by mcgoohan
First posted Jan 2, 2013 on People's Poetry Forum

Read more: Here...