A poem a week for 2012 – A record of a year in the life of…

…No Marx

The child audience awaits, little to do
Except twiddle their thumbs and look at their shoes
They won’t act like they’re above him, nor will you
Where’s the spirit? An almost blue collared accent

There’s no such thing as a flea’s lunch
Other than to a flea
Brunch, a lazy lean energetic shadow,
Intellectual equivalent of a pea

Snatched and spent from the cradle
An estate agent’s ladle raising issues
Genuine admiration is so much to the grave
From the cradle, a bookend

No marks, no words, no blame
The throttle of good intentions
Like exclamation marks in detentions, declaring
A life that dare not speak its shame