Flashing like a strobe light,
one scene after another –
the mannequins in a shop window;
an exclusive carrier bag
with the morning’s buys;
the boy racer roaring
in his chrome-decked musical box;
the tottering, high heeled legs
pointing at sex without motherhood;
the neon lure of the night club;
casuals perched in late night bars.
Nothing but front on a void;
a strip light of darkness,
speed getting nowhere,
chatter without meaning,
meal without substance,
no sign of Jerusalem
with her consoling breasts.
Michael Jennings
Keyworth, Nottinghamshire
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