I remember years as dark as this,
in rooms overlooking that old racecourse,
a world in slow decay
like mental states and empty plates,
days with nothing to do but sit and stare
or walk the drab streets
like a plodding hobo in search of a meal.
More than forty years fly by
but how little has changed.
The same weary mind
perceives this empty life,
these unknown vistas
funnelled into one cul de sac
copyright Francis Barker 2019