Birds singing up on high

The sound of a car passing by

All heads turn

When you open your front door.

Hairy half-lings charge the street

Lost in their own little world

Brother and sister holding each other’s hands

Before crossing the road.

Adverts promising more than Geordie Shore

Whizz on by at a speed that leaves you scatter brained

You focus on a landmark.

Almost half way there.

Feet slipping and rubbing in your shoe

The whole palaver of getting footcare

Leaves you feeling bored and wanting a car.

To take the burden of the road.

Smoke rises from the factory hill

Maybe the factory has burned down

You wonder as you turn the corner

And see your boss tearing out his hair

And jets of water flying through the air.

Into the inferno

That was your second home.

Everyone is gathered outside talking

Nothing like a crisis they say.

To bring people together.

Maybe I won’t need those shoes you imagine

Lying on the sofa watching telly all day

While they pay you out of the insurance while they

Find Alternative premises.


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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