On
Searching For A Job
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the
feet and the head soon get sore.
smog
and city streets collide.
the
second hand's a caesar
and
the cross too much to bear.
so
i sit myself amongst the legion
monday
midday
Cathedral
Square.
this
day as cold as an empty tomb.
I
cast my eye around.
Impending
rain clouds angelic vision
but
cannot force the congregation
Underground,
that's not their part
(and
as this play's written in stone)
No
one's going home.
Not
until some prayers are answered
some
miracle witnessed
some
life saved
or
failing that Sunday (the day of rest).
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© 1998
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