Ráth Cúil

small faces peer out from dirty windows
thin and ashen behind yellowed netting
on the colourless Rathcoole estate.
sallow faced men creep out like weeds
through parched soil, shuffle like shadows
of their former selves, the meagre sunlight
never holding back the grey.
sad stories unfold through tower windows,
the shadows elongate from the walls while
steel-grated windows negotiate the sunlight.
shattered glass from smashed car windows
glitters like stars in the gutter and the streets
soak me wet-through with the hopeless wait
for benefits day.