Bridges

Bridges

By Karen Davies

In New South Wales

bridges tell the tale

of lifes travail

for the not so beautiful elite

The homeless out of work

share a space of dirt

beneath your bridges

under the souls of your feet

Theres no dreaming here

romance is out of date

beauty is the sadness

of a quintessential fate

Mums n kids share

8 x 2 tin cans with lids

and wait for that day of the meek

but it wont be this week

Their communards

sleep by streets

on a park bench

where the soup kitchen meets

Real jobs have gone

old industries fled

and the rest of youse

have left us for dead

In New South Wales

histories tell the tale

of a social elite

with mud at their feet

and egos that never skip a beat.


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