Draft- ‘Cobwebbing’

They call it The Great American Ghost Town.

Crystalline chandeliers are home to spiders sheltering in Grand Ballrooms

From the murder and mayhem outside.

Blood on the pavement and in the sewers

But the oriental carpets just show evidence of rats

No use to the police, as run down as the buildings, in their own way

Plod plod plodding on

And so the rain falls softly on the roofs of mouldering mansions.


O’Connell Street is dark to those used to clashing neon.

Empty arches provide space for the tears of a dead architect

There should be people here.

Weaving cloth and friendships and families and politics

But we stay indoors out of the Dublin drizzle

We fear the landlord instead, knocking for the rent

And running without hearing a word spoken of the mould and broken locks

Keep calm and carry on

The spiders learn far faster.


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