Standing Sunday Morning
Eric Frank Goulden
A shish kebab rubs shoulders with a Chinese takeaway
Bus pulls round the island swings around the other way
To where it was coming from
Destination changes as a crowd of passengers get on
A car horn sounds two streets away
The wind blows plastic bags and papers up the street
Standing Water shags its way through Saturday night
Sunday morming staggers in hungover and belligerent
Unsatisfied
A peel of bells seagulls wheeling
Creeping numbness there's no feeling
