a Sunday eleven year ago

Any Sunday 2015 Long is Sunday, empty streets a tunnel of silence, damp pavement, water trickles into gutters. Burnt matches, *** butts and yesterday's leave forms a rust brown dike, it bursts and floods tiny pebbles- flowers on the window sills admire the rain on glass. A life spent in a pot fear no weed and see no evil. A black cat decides not to cross the road, a child in yellow wellies dreams of tomorrow.