Arielle

Midnight Sunday. At the blue house on the big green hill

Aching shadows haunt the walls. And inside, Navvy sleeps

Coming down with the satellites

He’ll be up before the dawn again

Dig up the roads. See what’s underneath. Then put them back

It gives him time to think

Of what the big green world was like

Before they’d had enough of each other’s love

Arielle, it weighs a ton

Arielle was made in the big blue skies

Proof of God, divine

While Navvy blasted through the streets in high vis and dry ice

In their minds, they were movie stars

Turned up for work two weeks too late

And they never noticed when he left

Now Navvy sits double parked with Guinness

Speaking to the toucans on the wall

Ariel, it weighs a ton

We have every right to be nervous but it’s not much use: the truth is always one step ahead, hiding itself away in the nightmares of tomorrow, waiting with a grin to be discovered before turning heel and vanishing again beyond the horizon. We have only ourselves to blame. But today is Sunday. And there’s no need to dig the roads. The navvy sleeps. A city dreams

Of his Arielle

Of his Arielle