Journey to the Centre of Nowhere

There are more livings things in one square mile of earth

than there are human beings on the entire planet.

They may not live as harmoniously as children’s books tell us

in the darkness of time’s sludge and slurry

but they happily get on with their lot

like coal-miners down the pit.

 

There are no 3i’s or underground websites

no hip cafes, unions or hedge fund scams;

just spiders and insects and forgotten onions

enjoying their short little lives together.

 

These living things remind me how the old talk of the past

doors left open likes nondescript fireplaces

a child’s wide-eyed glee as her father returns with a solitary lollipop

looking out for neighbours and gently sweeping the gloom to its place,

time to chat about nothing of any particular importance,

remembering the horrors of war like it was yesterday

retaining the warmth of spirit required to rise above the drones of sickness.

 

Looking outwardly to the pot-holes of an suburban sprawl

the redundant caravans cloaked in shame

the broken yellow lines of the acid super-highway,

I wonder how it would be if we were the ones

down there good and dirty.

 

Would we allow potatoes and carrots to grow

or would we scurry and snigger at their stupidity,

marvelling giddily at our God-given governance

as we hurry to blight the crops from under them

for whichever convenience justified this act?

 

Would we get the living things’ equivalent of the Nobel prize

for peaceably killing and sickening the enemy,

driving them further into the ground

as we hammer the hopes of the homeless

from the street to the grave?

 

Even when we drive monsters over them and rake up their habitat

the living things let us eat from their home.

We tear their gifts away from them and half are never even eaten.

We go to the trouble of spitting pesticides over their offerings

so why does it cost more when we don’t?

Are there any roots to a cloned potato?

Do we really care about what we shove down our throats?

 

When all we seek are remedies to our misery,

is it any wonder we believe the lies we’re told

as we journey to the centre of nowhere?