Can it sing? Or cry?
Or mock?
Does the brutal concrete
laugh?
This tower
(not a house!)—
a scrape and sore of blight
upon a seaside noon—
but can it does it
hum the midnight moon?
May it sob sometimes
somewhen,
or giggle the hopeless?
Does its concrete watch
a soar of songs
to melt the bones,
flinch the choke of wind?
This tower (not house)
a scorn of this or that
that doesn’t fit
but glues the settling-in;
a rigor-mortis grin
to clothe the dream
or myth of real
to sing alone,
atoned, this stone.
Issue 10
LOST SHOAL
Sarah Tait is a Poet, beach-walker, and Carer from Ramsgate. As well as having been published in a variety of magazines and anthologies, Sarah enjoys performing her work. Sarah also facilitates Writers Unleashed/Poetry Club—a monthly writing group in Ramsgate.