Outsider

  

Introverted, green clad walls,

surround the old monastic site;

peaceful in passing,

but de facto prior industrial age,

now tightly fisted,

by the squireens and thought brokers.

We bent the knee or left.

Each morning the rusted bus

with its fading plimsoll line
ferried its cargo to the nearby city

where we dreamt, and planned the great escape;

each isolated in his own cocoon,

fearful of the label,

proud of the slogan:                                      

                                        
Outsider

                                        Copyright rest with Niall O Connor

Illustration borrowed from Web.