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.
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