Business as Usual
Once, early in summer, early in the day, when walking our black spaniel – when we lived in Petticoat Lane.
In the car park, by the old sequin factory, where we owned our penthouse…we both saw the fox.
Chip sat; suppressed surprise, tail wagging, out-foxed by a new sort of dog appearing before his eyes.
Behind the still fox, a vixen froze and behind her, untroubled, their pups playing in the safe shadows…
Foxes foraging, out of place, in this place, face to face – like some once-upon-a-time, Disney-time.
Once, early in winter, when day’s are dark, when walking from home – when we lived in Petticoat Lane.
In the car park, by the old sequin factory, Christmas lights blazed night to day…I saw a homeless drunk.
He fell down. He looked surprised but continued singing on and on his wordless drunken song…
Behind another; another staggered into view; they’d slept inside the car park and hoped nobody knew.
Sometime they must’ve stepped out of line; as now, they step over law’s fine line, just in time.
Once, early in spring, a spring in my step, when walking to work – when we lived in Petticoat Lane.
Leaving the car park, by the old sequin factory, where we lived in our glasshouse…I see a trader.
I bite my bagel; bite off more than I can chew; I try to swallow; I cough and holler; he looks me through…
Behind,in Thomas Pink’s pink shirts;rubellite cuff-links, traders trademarked, hunters wearing hunting-pink,
Galloping off to work; chasing a quick buck; doing deals sub-prime; selling on, just in time.
Once, early in autumn, early in the morning, when walking home – when we lived in Petticoat Lane.
From the car park, by our fancy flat in the old sequin factory, I saw a man jump.
His the fall, falling fast; he fell flat on his face; he fell dead as a dead weight; I looked up
Above, one white face then another; below,tarmac blood red with tissue, he’s run-over innocence.
A lone leap into the unknown; crash landing far from home; lacking spine; a waste of time.
Once, later in life, later in the day, when it’s later than I think – when we’d long left Petticoat Lane.
I went back to the car park, by the sequin factory, where I’d lived. It was changed.
It was as if I’d never lived there; as if I’d never been there; nor lived or been anywhere….
I walk through the car park as I’ve walked through life; unseeing and unseen;I stop to look back.
There’s nothing to look forward to; the world I knew I’ve seen right through; all’s lost to time.