we can –
bow down to the establishment to
class reproduction
never seems to be in its final throws

Jump Ship some people – will always jump ship and survive some people make the marriage work some inwardly die … More

we excuse people
with,
oh, they have a good heart
but these people –
for me, their intelligence has no start

i did love her once
but now it seems inconceivable
she holds a baby
that in a distant past
may have been our pursued role

they are the problem
and that,
they only adopt the label, ‘working class’,
they are not really, ‘working class’

i have found home elsewhere
i thought victorian buildings would cradle me
i thought edwardian houses would design my grave

i am one of the ghosts now
my aura sepia tinged
my centre place renamed
out on the fringe