Coventry’s Pride.

You hear her before you see her, a-scraping and a-scouring, a rumble in the Earth

closer

closer

closer

before the city wakes.

Hidden sparks! The monotonous drone of bored machinery! A desperate cry for help, perhaps, or just dead inside and out…

The fluorescent men who ride her, all bleary-eyed and lifeless, are 

tired 

tired 

tired

of it all! It’s just the same old shit, different day, over and over and over again…

But she roars, how she roars! A flood of lights swarming all about her like honeybees in spring! The morning birds, their song, it drowns beneath that glorious wreck!

A hundred eyes in a hundred homes open, sudden and wide. It’s morning, she cries, Coventry’s Pride, and I’ve come to wash away your sin!

READING: Sometimes a Wild God, by Tom Hirons.

LISTENING: Angola Prison Spirituals, by Death Is Not The End.

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