Once in a while, I poke my nose outside of my front door,
That’s
almost all that I can do any more.
I step out onto
a city street,
Where herring gulls scream in the sky,
And cranes
slowly turn above the rooftops;
Building more
storage flats for workers,
So that they
can eat, sleep, wake and work again.
I drag
dustbins around to assigned locations,
Now that my
detritus has been taken away.
But something
has been left behind today,
A soggy bag
of shiny magazines
Commemorative
editions
Full of
pictures of the new king and the old queen.
And their
crowns, palaces, shiny white teeth and offsprings.
I delight in
hurling these images into my dustbin.
I’m sad that
I can only throw away photos.
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