A dull day; even the drizzle got bored and left.
No respite from conversations overheard,
Language may as well be dead; just wasted breath.
Only the incurious can thrive.
Just water the weeds, leave roots intact.
Prejudice consoles all that survive.
Explain what these people refuse to know?
When ideas upset brains, and rarely seed
Or give a grip to hold against the flow?
No raw material with which to build,
Just a pulp or the wrong kind of sand
Covers a land where none can be skilled.
I can only study the world and write –
As the imperial machine grinds on –
For eyes elsewhere to read and find some light.
Tony Norfield, 7 July 2019