Signal: All Clear
by EDWARD FENTON
THE answer’s on the tip end of your tongue:
the reply to all the baffling questions, to the lies,
the senseless terrors, the decisions: the clearing of the skies.
the reply to all the baffling questions, to the lies,
the senseless terrors, the decisions: the clearing of the skies.
The streets to walk on and be young,
(the way you were before you had to choose,
before you had to pay cash in the shops, before
you paused, debating, on what lay behind a door,
before you listened to the news
before you had to pay cash in the shops, before
you paused, debating, on what lay behind a door,
before you listened to the news
with that fixed grim attention, when the sum
of this plus that was definite)
are rubble now,
and you’ve grown up, and the blanks have to be filled somehow.
of this plus that was definite)
are rubble now,
and you’ve grown up, and the blanks have to be filled somehow.
Look for the answer. It will come.
You have it there on the tip of your tongue.
You have it there on the tip of your tongue.
Why do you stare? Why don’t you speak?
Why do you stand there dumb?
Why do you stand there dumb?