The glass of one shop front reflects the faded image of another
A small child staggers under a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers; a father-daughter conspiracy for a much-loved woman
Escalators escalate unceasingly, rushing me past people I only glance at
The smooth marble floors glide, glide away
A poem with no rhythm, metre or verse
A lone, lonely woman dressed up to the tens
hurrying, hurrying to meet a prince charming she knows is
Silent, silent mouthing cartoons trapped behind the flashing lights
Speak what I can only guess at
Pictures make no sense to me, a montage without
Within fake cactus plants, surviving the desert, still have no purchase here
I cannot make this poetry.
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