Written by Dylan Harris.
All rights reserved.
Having missed my chance to see the new ballet
because the money had left the 'Hole In The Wall',
I wandered through still fuming traffic
under leafless winter trees
full of starlings, sleeping.
I queued for "Highlander",
bumped by the lovers behind
consumed in each other.
An old American man passed through
with many young people dressed for the night:
couples, pairs, trios,
but no singles, like me.
A placard comes
saying protein causes lust
so eat less eggs, cheese, beef.
Underneath, the voice of a satired vicar
speaks from an unkempt man
dressed in old clothes,
dark and worn,
a formal stagnation,
a sombre containment.
A tramp frightened him away
with a comment everyone else heard.
I came out of the cinema as if in a film,
hearing my footsteps echo around the Square,
avoiding all those walking slow-motion across me,
seeing the special effects
of the blue wail
of the flashing siren
edging past.
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