Bad Poems


There are always more
Where they have come from,

Like the poor who clog the planet
Out of mind until they touch us

Where it hurts.
No use changing channels:

Here they are again repeated
In the feel-good bit of news

That never is.
No use putting distance in between us:

They’re like landscape seen in glimpses
From a skybus ten miles high:

We know it’s ugly down below
Where local colour is a body

In a minefield,
Not the lilt of phatic chatter in the sky.

from The Sweeping Plain (River Road Press, 2007), Michael Sharkey 2007, used by permission of the author and River Road Press

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