Away From Creation

Away From Creation
W/M by OsCKilO

Pick me us up and set me down ,
In a box high off the ground.
It is what I’m used to out of life.

This is up and there is down.
In between we carry on.
Up and down the stairwells to the heights
Look upon from high and feel ,
Just a little better than the person just below you in the block.

Run the gauntlet in the lift,
Even though it’s full of Piss.
I won’t go down the landing to the stairs.
‘coz on the way, some Drunken Cock,
Leaves his German shepherd dog to shit out on the Landing late at Night.
Elevated to the top,
Whoever pressed the button first.
Twenty more get on as you go down.

56 from Lea bridge road?
Underground from Walthamstow?
The cheaper leaves us standing on the bus.

Roundabout at Clapton Pond, Pembury Road and Dalston Cross,
Change at Kingsland high street in a rush.
Cordon stops the Traffic flow.
Held for twenty minutes,
so my chances now are well and truly fucked.

Late again, in ample time.
Mortgage payments, dotted lines.
Final warnings.
Card declined at Lunch.
Keep a fiver in my bag,
But I better hold it back.
Train Fair in the morning is a must.
Big Boss Man won’t understand.
Threatens life with Cap-in-hand,
then smiles and ticks a box of on his list.

Back home as the son goes down.
With the ones that follow suit,
shouting at the streetlamps for more light.
Lift is Out of Order
And the stairs are never ending
In the 13 floors of people stacked within.
Just before our door,
We pass the beast ,
sat in the hall
Behind a bit of wood put up to keep it in.
As always it Barks,
Until the owner sobers up and throws an empty beer can at it from within.
Keys in the door to slumber time seems much to me a second life.
I don’t remember sitting for a rest.
In the post-war fabrication,
Not designed for tests of time,
Or the patter from the feet of mice and men.
But it’s all we have for now so I better sleep until the gable in the morning with the lift.