Our Lady
Our lady is in the brambles;
Wan watcher of the asphalt
As it ascends to the A-road.
Stands like a nosy neighbour
Head cocked inquiringly
As if to catch a conversation.
Her wide wake is ceaseless
Irrespective of the tumult
From the intrusive traffic
Which accompanied the
Shift from track to tarmac.
From time to time she startles
A drunk dragging his feet
Up the rise; luminous marble
Looming from the graveyard
Overwhelms his dizzy eyes.
O.T. Park lives and works in Guildford. He has had poems published in Eye Flash Poetry, The Dawntreader and The Cannon's Mouth.