Monday, 12 November 2018

Silver Spoon

I linger in your spaces
Walk and walk,
Possessed by beauty
Admiring your painted ceilings
The sandstone arches;
When you build
You build beautiful walls.
Once I thought us, siblings
Born under the same moon
But Oxford reminds me that
You’re the one 
Born with a silver spoon
They’re playing the first chords of
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Within Plato's lackluster cave
My heart  -
A cat writhing 
Under truck tires -
Spits as
Young orchestra players sway with grace
Sheldonian angels
In the name of the Father, blessed.
Your tribe wear privilege ever-so-lightly
As if it were an expensive coat
You wouldn’t mind leaving behind
In the Bodleian Library