Life’s Car-Park

A definite roar crossed through

the white lines of the spaces,

and over the knee high wall,

swirling in through deaf ears,

and drowning youth with noise.

 

Black; cut onto concrete,

leaving the snail trail rubber

etched on the floor,

the vehicle now 500 yards away,

thrashing through traffic,

 

for the police often,

look out for trouble,

on the middle class streets.

Fast food refuse lie next to

discarded cigarettes from,

many a wasted hour.

 

The community centre,

is keeping the housewives fit,

and the oldies sociable,

while its car-park keeps the youth entertained.

Glass stretches across the tarmac,

relaxing and waiting for the plump tyres,

to slowly squeal out their air.

 

A lake lies south,

housing an island,

an island of geese,

and their shit.

200 yards from shore and mind,

oak and willow cover the islands modesty.

The Island watches on silently,

as Children walk into the car-park,

and adults walk out.

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