In the city’s centre,
Shrouded in darkness,
You’ll find the stores deposit and trust
Their contents loose and threatening, for years have been piling up
Growing vertical, like ivy might, without the forbidding glass.
Only in the park is the autumnal colour scheme cherished
As a medium between a kiss and a kick.
Yet, in this, my seventh season, I embrace the city,
Thankful for the balance of this very station.
Here opposites routinely rush past,
Like noble, unstoppable gases glowing red and green,
Inflaming the city’s psyche like a Tory rally.
Just look over there . . .
With more than a president’s audacity,
A man, his pallid cheeks sourcing colour,
Pawns his trousers and takes in the evening chill.
What a story he’ll have to tell,
Especially if the authorities catch him undressed
On these, the front steps leading to the executive suite.
Another — sitting in lotus position — cultivates another state
One where . . .
Here comes a princess
Or at least, one so dressed
It seems she has joined the other two
To form some court of fools.
Hmm . . . I think I get it now
The signs are coming in
Yes, the placards prod, and jest.
The pant-less man is tackling an elephant
under my observation
The elephant is well-dressed.
One woman’s placard appeals:
“Meet me @ the old oak tree.
Let’s rejig the constitution,
Charter a new conversation.”
Four people lug the largest sign,
Two in front
Clever words face skyward, and
Into which, from our towers, we drift.
“In the boardrooms,
Let there be light,
We’re coming in . . .
It’s time to paint new stripes.”
Comes the uneasy laugh,
For, however high up,
I’m being written into the script and . . .
That man’s still in lotus position,
Presumably, the cold concrete is warm to him
In the centre of a motley crowd
The princess, she’s dancing;
Even her dress is moving, slipping.
She’d better guard her casing.
The others are rocking, as if programmed,
Absorbing her like an instrument well tuned,
A luminary instrument unmatched.
This is my view
And however labile,
It’s a naturally lively salon!