Scenes From A Blackpool Conference

1.
Lively, frisky, slate-coloured eyes
bounding and bouncing at the hum of the wind,
white like electricity sparking around excited mouths,
roaring forward, desperate to play.

2.
After eighteen months
the ache has subsided to
wishes in the half woken morning.

But plans to search
for a new nervous start
are subdued by a loss of ease.

3.
After silent years
the dissettled apparatchiks
agitate words
conhiding true motives.

Chained from the question,
hollowed of the answer,
like alerting skin with warm rain
they're too wary
to worry with us.

But old train doors
don't wait
for stations to stop.

4.
My friend,
exhausted,
her social enamel worn away,
too nice to snap,
too tired to listen,
too involved to stop.

All words and arguments
have become sharp points of assault.
She no longer feels them
as caresses of friendship.

Beware the pit you have dug, my friend,
beware that dark, restraining trap.
Do not snap at the rope
we throw to help you out.