Marriage, Labour, Prison and Death

There is metal in all these things

Rings, machines and bars

My repertoire of memories

Played on a guitar


The first fret at the altar

Promise pictured ear to ear

A Spring ceremony

“We are all gathered here”


The second fret discordant

From the key diverts

Fingers getting calloused

From being overworked


The third is shadow and mistake

In the shape of Henry Lee

The sentence already sowed

By the seeds of jealousy


The fourth and final fret

Meant nothing to a soul

I could never fill the spaces

As the soil did the hole



Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s