Junkyard

I am trying so goddamn hard

to fight against rain for a light,

to make something of this junkyard.

I walked empty clubs, backdoors barred,

alleyways broken in twilight.

I am trying so goddamn hard

to find something new and unscarred,

something perfect despite the night

to make something of this junkyard.

I passed strangers through a graveyard,

looting like a rummage sale fight.

I am trying so goddamn hard 

not to scream amidst a vanguard 

of pricks with no f*****g right

to make something of this junkyard.

Faces like thumbtacks, they're all bored

and dead, like wingless birds in flight.

I am trying so goddamn hard

to make something of this junkyard.

Reviews

[Schatzi]

Hello Kenny Bellamy,

This is an interesting topic for a poem. I can't say I have ever read a poem about junkyards. I found it to be good. Could you please explain this line to me? "to fight against rain for a light," When I first read it, I thought it was a bit awkward. Now, I'm wondering if it's meant to be more metaphorical? I'd be interested to hear your interpretation.

Thank you for sharing!

Kind regards,

Schatzi

[Kenny Bellamy]

The narrator is probably stressed out, he needs a smoke. I've always found it a bit of a 'fight' to light up in the rain if only for a puff or two.

[Schatzi]

That makes so much sense now that I understand the reference. Being a nonsmoker, I never would have thought along those lines. Thank you. Now I can better apprecate that line. :)