The cars go past red , white and blue

The exhausts fumes filling my lungs and making me cough

as I traverse another alleyway, driveway, underground car park

Someone leaves a seat empty and I go and sit down and a drink is brought out for me

where I sit rolling a cigarette as the world goes by slowly.

Rolled up newspapers and designer shades no nothing for me.

Nursery Rhymes and poltergeists tell me to leave

and I wander off down the street.



Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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