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  Ben Barton
   
     
 
the Dark Cloud of Dover
 
Standing on a rented balcony
peering down
Below: a greying street
Amber signs flash
like marmalade
The people bent-double
suffocating from the rain
Umbrellas scatter –
a silence overtakes
and we sleep.
From this, the dark cloud of Dover.
 
The smell of fish 'n chips
a taste of kebab
the ice on my fingertips
and the space in my heart
is filled
by the downpour
released
From the dark cloud of Dover.
 
The stress and toil
my existence here
Lines on my face
stretch for blocks and boroughs
further than the dole queue
and we are all soaked
but still we stand
United.
 
Drenched – we face the blistering rain
and I bow my head, my mark of respect
for this: the dark cloud of Dover.
 
 
 
 

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