like green screen acrobats

through city streets

voices swing and sideswipe

and faces throw scowled eyes

towards our down trod step

it’s like plants waving their fists at trees

who only do what trees do

not denying light on purpose

as stigma sets in ugliness

and bunnies are just existing

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Windsor Street

No bunting flutters in the breeze,

no boys and girls, dressed up so neat,

with not a scratch upon their knees.

There are no flags on Windsor Street.

There are no parties in the yard,

the sandwiches will hold no meat.

They will send no greetings card

‘from the residents of Windsor Street’.

There are no beds of scented flowers,

there are no...

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