Old Mark cries “No” and “No” again.
His protest flies across the park.
It enters houses. “No” his pain
cannot be stopped from dawn to dark.
“No, No” each moment is his first
awareness that he’s hit the wall.
What was is gone. His heart must burst
each moment that he grasps it all.
The twilight home that holds his hell
is well endowed, of good repute.
The inmates in each private cell
cry “No” although their cries are mute.
Children stop their play to ask
“Why does the man keep shouting ‘No’?”
Their mothers don the adult mask
and maximise the radio.
previously published in The Raintown Review