DAY SIXTY-THREE – Carolyn Richardson

The Box

He makes a box to think
outside of
as might an architect or
coffin maker, places it
at the heart of
himself, stands arms
akimbo, surveys his work
as might Joseph a
handcrafted crib.

Strong box lines
follow those of sleek
navy suits he favours in earlier days
when a matching silk tie
bound healthcare reforms
to Congress and
the box becomes
a present he always
wanted to give.

But axe-wielding claw
hammered suits arrive
funded by blood diamond
capital, mandated in oil,
cached, collateralised
assets and a mutinous
sense of entitlement.
Via 24/7 automated CFD trades
cold assassins brutalise & empty the box
graffiti #TTIP  in blood of discarded veterans
on its broken boards


Across windswept
plains of three turgid
oceans,flocks of serried
digits are radar tracked by
the CIA, Goldman Sachs
and the Pentagon;
winging silent, drone-like,
weaponised and unseen
they land softly in New Zealand
Eire, France, Britain,
while in various
unmapped eyries no
Satnav will every find,
bitcoin billionaires stand in
gun rooms, backs to roaring
fires, admiring glass
cased shards of the box,
(as might East Germans
with fragments of the Wall).

Skyping tycoons, they
raise a glass, sip schnapps,
quote Graham Greene
‘destruction, after all, is a form of creation’

await a Phoenix’s rise.




2 thoughts on “DAY SIXTY-THREE – Carolyn Richardson

    • Hi Diana – the previous poems are all accessible from the ‘Recent Posts’ list on the bottom right side of the blog…and if you ‘follow’ the blog you can receive notifications of all future postings. Thanks for your interest! Andy


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