Friday night

a one car crash at the charles cross junction 

cone zone closure at the intersection 

rain falls heavily on the black top 

traffic lights cycle go, amber, stop 

blue lights flashing, emergency 

fire and rescue cutting someone free 

onlookers hang from windows staring 

instagram twitter snapchat sharing 

police collect witness statements 

rain continues with no abatement 

lights reflect of the slick tarmac 

shattered glass and a broken roof rack 

teen drunk driver stands obdurate 

his passenger not so fortunate 

girlfriend rushed to the a and e 

driver is a walking casualty 

not so worried she was nearly killed 

more concerned about the drink he spilled 

fluorescent yellow jacketed men 

measure the scene, then measure again 

wreckage cleared within the hour 

blood washed away by the downpour 

clouds clear up and moon shines down 

on another friday night in town 

Steve Wheeler © 20 September, 2020

This poem was first published in Urban Voices by Steve Wheeler, Wheelsong Books, 2020.

Broken rainbows

i make my progress slowly through a cloud of traffic smoke / picking up the pieces of the rainbows that you broke / the colours scattered miserably ‘cross the dirty pavement slabs / oblivious, homebound workers shouting out to hail their cabs / headlights force harsh shadows and a shrinking of their souls /

reflecting off the oil and water floating in the potholes / broken rainbow pieces crunching under aching feet / undreamt dreams forgotten through action incomplete / images engraved in concrete bringing slow decay / beneath the dirty viaduct and across the alleyway //

headlights trace their beams against the fractured warehouse walls / fog descending slowly as the urban darkness calls / downtown the neon lights blaze, glowing their silent gleams / overhead the streetlights throw their harsher sulphur beams / creatures of the night are slowly beginning to emerge / both undesirable and seductive, their lives will converge / how this ends no one can accurately predict / early hours before that unavoidable conflict / human derelicts and dissipated drunken wrecks / falling out from bars and the noisy discotheques / wearily they stagger to their lonely cardboard beds / grasping empty pockets, nursing their aching heads //

at dawn the cycle starts, it all comes round again /

life is piling pain on hurt, and piling hurt on pain / so i’ll head on westwards against the traffic on the street / avoiding contact with the human flotsam that I meet / still gathering up the rainbow pieces where each one fell / scattered in the slow chaos of this urban concrete hell //

 Steve Wheeler © 13 September, 2020

This poem was first published in Urban Voices by Steve Wheeler, Wheelsong Books, 2020.

Photo from Pxhere