Untitled

A light, halved in pylon: dusk.

The meter hums a warning sign.

Fenced wasteland in brittle

Rust;

Peels of paint, the

Breaking thin

Green and orange

Shedding skin

of a railway bridge.

Missing signs;

To

and

To  

(ghost towns) .

The touch of absent hands.

Advertisements

About Ian O'Brien

I am a teacher and scribbler, living in Manchester, UK.
This entry was posted in Words. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Untitled

  1. ginowan777 says:

    Never knew my grand folks as they died at the end of WW II just after I was born, but after losing my folks I share your loss.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s