Bright Lights In The Shadow
The immortal orange glow swallows stars.
Nearby farms sit underneath the flight path surrounded by motorway.
Paradox's of tranquillity tucked behind B roads,
where rows of 3 and 4 bed detached house's fetch value,
like the trained through bred well fed dogs seen on the alleyways and bridleways
fetching castaway branches,
to the arms of masters who make money in the city
and home in the shadow,
where the orange glow of the airport provides employment,
for those unwilling to brave the cattle of the packed commuter trains,
to the trades of the city.
Baggage handlers boss the pubs
and commandeer the pool tables.
Stewards hold court on the dance floors of bars
who try hard to attain the status of it's bigger city cousins.
Kids compete with eager fists to be the biggest fish in the garden pond
unaware there is a whole world out there beyond the orange glow,
and the shadow that hangs from the city.
Distinguishing province from capitol.
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