[This is a bit darker than usual for this blog. So you may or may not want to read on … transportation was the name given to the eighteenth and nineteenth century policy of shipping British convicts out to the colonies.]
The Transportation Problem
Poor old nags. They shuffled in
on a gust of gin. Sobbed, swore,
died. Rotten blood, everywhere.
Pox-riddled clocker’s yard.
Rip out their guts. Add
shiny gears — worth a fortune,
worth eight lives —
the rubber bladder, the mercury.
Pour your tea,
sip and watch the moon call out
unbreakable bones, silver skin.
Sell ’em on. The toffs adore
riding high on silver whores.
[There’s an edginess to steampunk that attracts me, but I tend to like my fictional dramas balanced with a happy ever after. I guess poetry is the natural fit for me in exploring steampunk’s PUNK.]