• Wayne Perkins

Looking back at 2018

I raised her a glass, and I looked at her ass, as she faded away in the night. The windows were clean, in a house you’ve never seen but the shadows remained in the light. I saw the surprise, and the fear in his eyes, when the minister started to pray. And the choir it sang, about the #metoo man, and the thundering web of decay.

The glass hit the wall, at the bartenders last call as she picked up her dress from the floor. Not a word was spoken, as I looked down at the broken, dreams of women who were leaving through the door. All I heard was the sound, of the wind blowing round, there was rhythm but I couldn’t get the beat. I swept the glass up with a broom, turned the light off in the room, locked the front door and then wandered down the street.

The ghosts of the past, pressed their faces against the glass and pointed to the people in the tower. The judge he made a call, to play the man and not the ball, while the minutes slowly turned into an hour. The traditions of antiquity and the doors of inequality were left crumbling in the broken ruins of time. And the victims laid complaints, while the poets and the saints, watched the bartender act out the pantomime.

I asked Jacinda the question, as she leaned upon the lectern. “What’s the difference between black and blue and red?”. She slowly drank her coffee and she smiled warm and softly saying “I think I’ll answer something else instead”. The king sipped whisky in his room, while the pawns undressed the groom, with his nakedness on display for all to see. And in the Koro lounge, Mr Jones and all his clowns wrote new rules and pushed their ancient new decree.

I asked the commander in chief if he was a liar and a thief or just a good guy who people didn’t understand. But he wandered down the hall, wrote his name up on the wall, and said “I think it’s time to join a different band. And when forty-one died, forty-six tried to hide, while forty-two and three and four shook hands like men. And in the ruins of democracy, I saw respect and decency, and the hope that maybe truth could rise again.

4 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Follow Wayne's Blogs

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • YouTube
  • Tumblr Social Icon
  • Instagram