Quanita

Waiting for the train, a summers day home late, on methadone you never say, the buzz is mine alone, if it gets to half past eight, no one hears you moan, at the rails pray, for something better than a headstone, could't stand the shame, public toilets are for the old, who will bear the blame, . it's only junkies who atone, from yesterday’s game, Yes, we have to state, this is our brand new face, dinner is still to make, suicide is not child's play, feel my cotton waist, sunlight floods the plain. she made us flower never turning away making our case the loss she created, her bottle a freighter, the ones off the labour, thunderstorm and showers like a schooner waits for wind, she let us pause for thought, she knew all our sins, cargo boats making for home, their freight caught, she jolted all our bones, knew where we lived, the Bridge her open shore, how we were as kids, at her party on the Falls, Belfast's steamy closeness, we were all her towers, never made to cower