Licking at crumbs

You know them well, those

tamed and well trained city pups.

The dunners and yappers

replete in pinstripe and penury;

the high polish of their John Lobbs,

scattering the pigeons

pecking at scraps.

It's like a conveyor belt,

stiff armed, shoulder bowed,

heads like nodding dogs,

coming and going in servitude,

as from the tunnel a dragon roars,

beckoning with it's open jaws.

Often, as is the city's wont, it rains, 

and the black, bobbing cloud that snaps 

to attention seems impenetrable 

when viewed from the high tables

on the thirtieth floor; though on 

careful inspection, there are gaps,

a scattering of crumbs.

Sometimes, the sun shines through;

when it does, there are those who 

glean an understanding of how a man

can enjoy the soil trapped beneath 

cracked and weathered fingernails;

how he can trace each precious little
seed to its final windblown rest. 

Mostly though, 'it's just the way it is,' 

they say, not really understanding 

the synergy between balance 

sheet and an affair of the heart. 

The thrill of each new day becoming 

lost to the limits of stagnated imagination,

in the same way as limitless possibilities

become caught in the intractable web of 

unexplored destiny.

And thus, pleasantly and presentably 

seated, almost nobody looks around.

Instead, dunning and yapping in concert,

they lap at crumbs of comfort that

fall from those higher tables; 

Time caught, as child and avarice collide 

across horizons infinitely wide;

whilst back and forth the profits stream, 

just out of reach, as in a dream.

Reviews

[Terpsichore]

Just had to come back for a second read.
Licking at crumbs indeed. That is the lot of most of us, and I have to confess I have on occasion dunned and yapped with the best of them.

This makes we wish I had not!

T

[Glen Weimann]

Brilliant! Sad but brilliant! Frighteningly well observed, Beccy, and portrayed with great imagery and phrasing. I like the thread of pecking at crumbs, the whole being grateful for small benefits. The conscious subjugation of personal dreams. This reads as though you're pretty familiar with the world about which you write so insightfully. I say this because I knew this world pretty well, and I could accuse you of stereotyping and oversimplification, either of the strata or complexities in this world, or of the mentality and regard for their work of the employees, but actually you deftly allow for chinks and variations and poeple's ability to think and feel. And in some ways the conscious and aware acquiescence of the dunners is sadder than unknowing unthinking blind followership. 'Mostly it's just the way it is' seems to me to acknowledge that some of these folk go home to sculpt or sing arias or win squash championships or mentor at a chess group or whatever. And 'not really understanding' speaks volumes that these folk aren't unthinking - they may strive to understand and suspect the BS that comes from those who manage them, but at the end of the day, they're paid, they're comfortable, then they go home and live their life between 6pm and midnight; work-to-live etc.

Your phrasing, choice of words, flow and pacing, and overall picture, are all, I'd say, of the highest quality. It's a black world you describe with only the odd grain of hope, so I can't exactly say I 'enjoyed' reading it; but actually it was so good that truthfully I did!

Great job!
Nigel

[Terpsichore]

Out of touch in the world of commerce means we're out of touch with the things that really matter.

This is so good, and I love the lines, 'the black bobbing cloud that snaps to attention.' and 'there are gaps, a scattering of crumbs.
Looking down I can imagine a sea of umbrellas streaming by and the odd little glances upwards to something higher and better than the everyday drudgery.

T

[emmajoy]

'Time caught, as child and avarice collide
across horizons infinitely wide;
whilst back and forth the profits stream,
just out of reach, as in a dream.'

What a superbly written step from the natural world to the clamour of city life. You use words as easily as mixing a cake and what results is an intelligent, colourful and very truthful cake, sans icing.

This is brilliant writing, Beccy.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is so good...it's like comparing the country kind of life, the tough life depending on the earth, the rain...natural causes...and then the city...insulated by tall buildings...that wind we hardly ever felt in the Bronx because of those structures...
and sometimes dreams become sheltered from the storm of achievement...and we won't drive out of our city limits to try to achieve...we settle for that 13 story apartment---and the isolation of a safe life.

this one really got me going.

j.