It's a new morning

It’s a new morning
by Marilyn Francis
It’s a new morning
pay attention
to the pig’s head
and its mouthful
of flesh
pay attention
to the workers
in stolen trainers
and nowhere
to run.
It’s a new morning
over fields
over orchards
and broke-back pickers
picking for next-to-nothing
pay attention
to the baby
ripping up books
in his cot.
It’s a new morning
over Gotham City
a distracted bat-bird
smashes into its reflection
on the thirty-third floor
pay attention
to the weather forecast
you think it’s June
it’s fucking January
the trees have fallen.

Marilyn Francis
Marilyn Francis lives and writes poems in Radstock, which was once a mining town in the Somerset coalfield.