Pirate Flag

by Aidan Andrew Dun

This little song written at a waystation in the city of tedium…


A huddle of citizens
at the decrepit shelter
inhaling particulates
from Chelsea Tractors
barreling past, shiny
ghosts in the rain,
near the delta of City Road
down in Old Street.

One philosophic attendant
on London Transport
stands distant, back to
the traffic, at railings
separating pavement
from decrepit park,
substitute for greenery
in the urban desert.

Gazing at a fluttering
bin-bag, wind-lofted,
flying from the winter
masthead of an elm,
he’s a million miles away
on the deck of a rebel ship
navigating, without
destinations, a ruthless sea.

Here comes that red
Two One Four at last
bound for the real
green north-country.
The ship’s captain
is African naturally.
Good to get moving
on the street of dreams.