Magnetic Mountain

It was a strange attraction

That brought us here:

A glisten from your sullen veins—

A promise, a signpost,

And us, deciding to stay.

We marched in lock-step

To that glorious future,

His likeness glimmering

On coarse woollen lapels

As proof of our labour.

After the red dust had settled

(at least for a while)

We asked ourselves:

Had we been deceived—

or deceived ourselves?

Today, polyester jackets, unadorned

Mutely cry out for someone

To demonstrate a melody

In the supermarket tills’

Incessant beeping

A granite sword looming,

We gaze across, to that rusty field

Where your funeral pyres still burn,

Silently roaring

In a late summer’s haze

Now, days become shorter

And we know that soon,

Another flock of birds will settle—

Confusedly—

Here, with us.