Notes from a Thursday Morning
is still as the sea.
Gulls hunt on wing
for tourist offerings,
but the barren streets
are litter free this morning,
except for the gum freckles
making them look diseased
somehow,
and of course
they are for those
stuck in god forsaken city,
static except for the lines
on bog-top tiles
and the cracked face
greeting people
with a beggars courtesy
on the bit between
St James' and North Street.
But there’s nothing
but fluff filling
my pocket so I shrug,
and offer an appology
by way of explanation that
I can't even buy a smile
from the hipster barista
in destination café,
or short order waitress
in the corner ignoring me
filling her notepad
with pencil sketches
for a new sweetheart,
cold and still as the air.
Lovely very evocative, I almost felt I was there. Great imagery. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Stu
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