Metropolis Blues by Colin Dardis

Those with berets worn ironically
wave their rubber stamps;
Holy
tattoo artists in windowless parlours
prime their Technicolor needles,
praying to steampunk icons
to save them from monochromatic minds;
Holy
vainglorious officers,
drawing power from their uniforms,
parade, only saluting themselves,
egos shipped in from a company
we may never know;
Holy
temporary wardens,
more feared than loved, wander
past the parking meters, the gas meters,
the electric meters, the soul meters,
the sex meters, the spunk meters,
the tit meters, the pussy meters,
all ticking down to zero without
the hope of any coinage thrown
towards their questioning,
not realising you could pay in kindness
if only the taxman allowed it,
and therefore they ration their hugs;
Holy
children of stalled velocity
lost outside the school gates,
feeling abandoned and unable
to find any logic in applying
themselves to anything.
Holy
the haircuts, the clothes,
the fake tans and powderfaces,
all high-gloss parts not totalling
a human sum, just the resemblance
of youth, held onto maddeningly
by dumb fingers;
Holy
and the paving stones by their millions,
ordinary and grey, without note
or gold: the lie of riches
festering beyond effort
despite education’s belief, just
the tar pit of the benefit system instead.
Holy
Colin Dardis is a 32 year old poet originally from Tyrone, now based in Belfast. He runs a monthly open mic night called Purely Poetry in the Crescent Arts Centre, and is the editor of Speech Therapy, an online poetry zine. His poems have been published in various journals, ezines and anthologies in Ireland, UK, USA and elsewhere.
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