Child of Industry

Am I here now, reclining or back?

Coke can cup in the cul-de-sac

Cold fog, January smog, cough at the door

Mum watching the clock, curfew at four

Full of industry we eye the estate

Send word back to cool the plate

It’s early yet for mince and lies

Let’s scale the wall of capitalist divides

Coopers off cuts, deadly like spurs

Hurled and spiralled to metallic blurs

On barrels of fun on we drone

Grey dusk descending, no thoughts of home

A sour sickly smell of powder and paste

Whipped up, flavoured and potted for waste

Labelled, loaded, stacked on a rack

Tempting the suffering kleptomaniac

Matriarchal calls way down the air

The time has passed for truth or dare

Suburban melodies from a kin

Like rats to the piper she lures us in

Wide-eyed pity slapped in the head

No food for lies, straight to bed

Wake me up with life to darn

The singers spool has spun its yarn