I spy Sky
Capitalism claws tonight
like a crow pecking at a corpse
socialists pray it’ll take flight
and wipe free its blotted black blight.
So the ‘rogue’ states can eat tonight.
But the sky is my butch blanket:
a safety blanket they can’t touch
the moon hovers like a crumpet
the sky’s portly loyal crutch.
Culture’s communal snug blanket.
The patchwork’s pure - no logo -
the backdrop to every last scene.
It hosts the night and the day-glow
and cuts crusts where the planes have been.
A blank space retreat. No logo.
Sarah Louise Parry is currently an undergraduate Journalism student at Cardiff University.