Hanging from windows, a shapeless testimony
of what is to be, a rainbow achieved.
Monuments in black and white, still defeat
warning over tiredness, staid in motion.
The outside flowers tended to occasionally,
lurch over the sill, a familiar song
not tied to origin, names, addresses
just background scent, overpowering, clean.
Consistently early, to joy of my betters
slipping to sleep at the crucial moment
self-definition to plump up the numbers
an open book, ennui, waiting to die.
Pouring feasts, reconstituted coffee, cordial,
free drinks to loyal customers
in return for inspiration, hard to come by
in this tragedy of errors.
Some colourful greenery bedecks the street.
For this time of year, a child I knew
the dull water passing below head, a tired testimony
to all that is in motion, pitted against boredom.