Return the bull of charge and stamp,
Crashes the china, turn down the lamp.
Close the shop, pull down the shutters,
Back to the grey, the flooding black gutters,
My hammer comes falling down.
With a hammered crash the birds flee from top and wing stop rest,
Flee from hanging branch, from sea view nest,
Set beyond the green lands of new, fly to skies of calmer blue.
The animals startle, the horses back hooves punch and dance,
Back to the rack,
The dead eyed trance.
Back to the brink, the endless track,
Pause the clapping, the patting of back,
Back to the worry and waiting room walls,
The silent smiles, announcement calls.
The same record scratches the needle to nub,
And spinning, it waits to be turned.
Myself be picked up and set back to one,
That time has passed, the moment has gone.
All starts again, this race to be won,
Cranking starter, rusty gun,
Hammers pound the flattened earth,
And so, this beat goes on.
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler