Will the trains still run on time
Will there be cherries at the stall
Will the sun rise, at all
.
They are insisting we must be prepared (for what? And how?)
To lose our trousers and our shirts
But do not bet against us
(Even naked, even now)
I ask about the Little Ones
Daddy where did it go wrong
Why can't we see the neighbours
They won't talk our language
Do us any favours
Will there be bandages
Will there be tea
Words to close the distances
Dividing you and me
Are there lights down in the tunnel
Smell of whisky in the air
Boots on my street, the sorrow sweet
The exit labelled fear
*****
Click here for more poems by Richard Morgan
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