OLD CAFE By Strider Marcus Jones

a rest, from swinging bar

and animals in the abattoir-

to smoke in mental thinks

spoken holding cooling drinks.

counting out old coppers to be fed

in the set squares of blue and red

plastic tablecloth-

just enough to break up bread in thick barley broth.

Jesus is late

after saying he was coming

back to share the wealth and real estate

of capitalist cunning.

maybe. just maybe.

put another song on the jukebox baby:

no more heroes anymore.

what are we fighting for-

he's hiding in hymns and chants,

in those Monty Python underpants,

from this coalition of new McCarthy's

and it's institutions of Moriarty's.

some shepherd’s sheep will do this dance

in hypothermic trance,

for one pound an hour

like a shamed flower,

watched by sinister sentinels-

while scratched tubular bells,

summon all to Sunday service

where invisible myths exist-

to a shamed flower

with supernatural power

come the hour.

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

  

His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine;The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice.