The Estate

Concrete structures that rue the day
they were put together
house their owners
who live on the never never .
They hem in
the painted on circle
in the street
where 100 year old children
conspire and meet .
Tramps , cardboard boxes
and dogs
roam the area of poverty .
Through the rusted and twisted
blackened railings
there is a playground
graphitti sprayed all about
and in the distance
stumbling is a lager lout .
At the peak of a day turning to night
sillhouetted amid the prismatic light
there's a child bearing the windy bite
she stands
oblivious to all
that surrounds .
As she contemplates the slide
I wonder to myself
is this what is meant
by a mass country's
political
and economical
divide .