Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow...

erbacce-press

R G Gregory

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A. from THIRTEENERS 78

(i)
i've been messing about with figures all day
columns of them (pages) making mistakes
going back rechecking giving in to despair
starting again in bad light - my head aches
my eyes become reclusive in dismay

figures lie in wait for me everywhere
long black rows of them like deadly snakes
curdling my fingers - sharp beaks of prey
will have my eyes out or serried stakes
(hurled from pages) transfix me to my chair

with evening (figure-drenched) i drain away
into the sumless streets - when a cloud breaks
and pelting digits pound me from the air

(ii)

because there are bosses the people don't care
the man who gets the kudos earns the worry
and worrying himself aloof he needs protection
hierarchy's this sad perpetual story
the boss in his castle the people in despair

violent rashes rise from this infection
and living hope finds solace in a mortuary
a cry for new arrangements bleeds the air
let people be equal (extolling the ordinary)
appeases fear and roars for resurrection

the people (unused to power) forget to care
errors indifference enervate the glory
and bosses are there to cash in the dejection

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