Blowing Up the Street (IP)
By Ed Crane
The streetwise old Tom twists, turns and cavorts
back arched; a kitten again.
Off his face on Catnip? I don’t think so.
The secret’s up his tail.
The Beagle, brown eyes squinting, pulls on the leash.
Eager to get his daily toilet overwith before
his flailing ears are ripped from his head.
For him, a day for canine dreams in a sofa curl.
Citizens walk east like Lowry's figures, moving
at an angle of five degrees. Going west
they adopt Quasimodo hunches, crouched
hands in pockets hoping not to trip.
Smokers huddle in bus shelters wasting
boxes of Swans trying to light their effing fags.
Seagulls march overhead hovering on overworked wings;
motionless ragged hankies in the sky.
The gentle river’s surface, turned black, convulses
and vomits miniature white horses, while the trees
on the bankside hum Whale songs.
Remnants of last summer’s leaves gambol; brown
hopped-up butterflies flying more blind than Bats.
The day passes quickly and the stillness that replaces
bequeaths the scene of a lost battle.