Gloss Paint

Beneath the gloss paint
that covers
the cracks in the walls
there is a sickness.

Another side to laughter,
fancy dresses,
and dinner suits
and gaiety.

Superficially there is order,
manners, grandeur
but underneath,
deceit and lies.

The priest who likes small boys,
the business man
who made his wealth
from whore houses.

The banker
who did dirty deals,
made money from
the weaker willed.

The leaches; fancy ladies
plundering their living
from rich husbands
and sugar daddies.

Beneath the gloss paint
that covers
the cracks in the walls
there is a sickness.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!