In the Waste Land

(for Eliot's Missouri admirers)

by T.P. Wilkinson / August 16th, 2015

We can
we hope
were we
the mortgagor,
or the mortgagee?
the lessor
the lessee?
Knocking
knocking
on the door
the window
then spread eagle
on the floor
the carpet fibres
worn
forcing their way
into his nose
while torchlight
blinds
schackles bind
what their god
with infinite wonder
for centuries
jealously
persistently
unrelentingly
despite all prayers
ignored.

T.P. Wilkinson, Dr. rer. pol. writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..

This article was posted on Sunday, August 16th, 2015 at 8:04am and is filed under Poetry.