As the melancholy sound of Corrie
Idles its way to a far back room –

There sits in secret silence, a groom.
He hums the tune, is heavier for it

Takes up his stout glass, sips tight
drains the last, raises his hand to the light.

Anxious, he folds down all but the ring
picturing gold on such a slender thing -

Deals with the madness of a moth, body banging.
Wipes the sweat from his brow, smears

Moth death along and around, he’s stained
Now, for the morning, no sleep to consume -

As the melancholy sound of Corrie
Idles its way from a far back room.

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Coro = Coronation Street, a long running soap opera over here. Check out the theme:

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this formatting thing is crap!

Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 07/21/2009 06:41PM by larkinabout.

Look at you, sitting around, producing poetry, not talking shit. I may like you yet.