Blue Sky Thinking

Sky is an abstract noun.
Let’s take everything down:

the rain, the planes, the turbulence too.
Gather the grey, the white, the blue,

Bring them to the underpass,
where the graffiti perspires piss

and the estate kids hang out,
tired of swings and roundabouts,

looking for a harder kick.
Listen to their realpolitik

where childhood is a smoke bomb,
a veneer of ocean calm

held up before the rage of living.
Memories are unforgiving

and although with time, smoke will clear
nothing is ever forgotten here.

See their anger; raise up your sky
and show them where they’re free to fly.