The Boulevard.

It was streetlight that
shone in their bedroom -
streetlight.

No stars or moon no
sunshine - the room
ached in its dull thudding.

The children slept three
to a bed, they slept in -
threes.

They wove stories
and dreams huddled
against the naked cold.

In the dark,
panelled light plays
on the nested innocence
of their eyes.


An arrowhead of
promise whipped
circularly over
their heads.

The granite of
tomorrow
still
in the ground.