Terrence SMITH

GOLD

Sometimes bored, lonely and lost
I look through endless shop sales,
consumer-candy on screens,
swing through city filled streets, mind-
-ing my way through bags full of
next year’s discarded garbage,
joining the frenzied footsteps,
arms stiff as a cadaver,
switched-on, logged-in, null en void,
watching the gabble in despair.

I wonder broke past windows
full of precious Mayfair silk,
shiny Bond Street leather brogues,
a dress, hung up, glamorous.
I finger the garments, and
met with stern looks, from well spent
gym muscle, guarding doorways
to luminous boutique fronts,
and leave with an empty heart.
Not much else lights up a winters evening.