Drifting

By John Bartlett
Drifting rocks poetry Right Now

the air was full

of silences,

sheep like

cardboard cut-outs,

tattered & abandoned,

trains creeping

guiltily

across an empty plain,

onshore

the thack of leather

on cricket bats,

a Prime Minister

cheerily

tweeting scores,

offshore

the crack of clubs

on flesh,

and,

while no one was watching

the ship of state

drifted

towards the rocks.

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