A Windscreen Theatre
Showing Windblown Street
Bitterly cold
Sky seal grey
Leaves wave sarcastically
Parked cars line the pavements
Like temporary gravestones
An empty space:
DO NOT PARK IN FRONT OF THIS GATE
(in Fuck You Red)
The crash and clatter of the lonely workman feeding a trailer
He thinks to himself:
Feels like the last day of Autumn
I might have stew tonight
With dumplings
And a warming glass of red
The wind howls in triumph
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