WHAT BED?
when there is nowhere for a son of man to hide,
nowhere for a father of men to lay his head;
when daughters of men have nowhere to go
but Skid Row
and those who in
this Age of No Job No Room
refuse to beg
just go, anyway, go, travel - seek,
and finding no love
no hope
no cave, no wood
in all the land, end up, maybe
with the future of man in their arms
in a roadside ditch;
while within the electronic fence the rich
prepare to celebrate the Fin de Millennium.
The end of the dream of the good.
V
FIN DE MILLENNIUM
It was fast,
but I knew it was him when I saw him catch the eye
of some bedraggled traveller with a brat on her back -
or was it a cry he had heard? -
as I say, it was fast
but he stopped to lend her a hand -
which was naturally all he had ...
Us, we swept on by, nineteen hundred and ninety-nine
dopplering into the past.
