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Living off the land

10/03/2014

The view from my front gate after rainMy income is a disability pension.
I’m paid to be sick.

My home is where the land meets the sea.
It was once a swamp and when it rains becomes one again.
As the oceans rise it is returning to mud.

Houses and factories sit side by side.
The smell of cooking mixes with chemical fumes.
Vivid blue swimming pools are tainted with stinking black dust.

This was always a place of the poor.
During the Depression many died in the huge camp here.
Now the yuppies have come to drive us away.

The conveyor belts run night and day.
The coal ships queue at the harbour mouth.
Exporting climate chaos to the world.

I guess you’ve gotta make a living somehow.
Catching the bus can be tricky

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One Comment
  1. Rexie permalink

    Reading this, nothing comes to my mind except for perhaps a line of poetry.

    “I guess you’ve gotta make a living somehow.
    Till death grant in next life a better place”

    Like

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