Cleaners
The sign on the doorway
Said refuge from pain
Step on into uncertainty
Escape from the rain.
The endless persuasion
Of what it all means
And the man playing soul
On the record machine.
And his voice reassures
As you stumble behind
Line following line
Blind leading the blind.
As you try to fit in
With the spirit of things
They cut to the chase
And the dealers move in.
And no matter how often
You figure the odds
When they cut to the chase
the profit was god.
Frank Murphy.
Photograph: The Yellow Steeple Trim Co. Meath
From across the Boyne.
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