Cloud Nine

As the last lights go out

I know I could be, I could be I know 
comfortably lying on cloud number nine 
currently awaiting me patiently parked 
in neutral, steaming, outside by the curb.


Faint wisps of water vapour
bumper stickers curling
seductively philosophical
soaking up sunshine.


As a mother will dry the last tears of her child
lying, dying alongside in the gutter…


A little puffy cloud, a fluffy little ball
all promising and sparkly ready to soar 
up into my own personal heaven 
oblivious, away from it all.


no room in heaven for the weak or unwilling
salvation aplenty on the killing ground floor 


To fly above godlike changing the world 
as childhood heroes promised each weekend
magically resolving all of life’s challenges 
The good guy wearing a saintly white hat
and always the baddy convenient in black
how TV dreams seamlessly turned to illusion 


Seeds of confusion sown nightly 
by the mightily indifferent 
makers of misery


How the mind warps, how distorted time flies 
I could choose conformity, to comfortably lie 
then lie back on cloud nine kidding myself 
that all will be well in the sweet by and by.


Ignoring bleak sounds of cruelty and chaos
triumphant cries of the circling hyenas
the crass crunching of bones
a stockpile of death 
below on the streets 


And maybe t’would be better if I could
but I cannot no matter how hard I try
nor how tightly I screw shut 
these weeping eyes at night


As the last lights go out…

Photo by ANIRUDH on Unsplash