1 New Poem

High Street Signage

Glinting in the Arabic numeral light,
it’s an Anglican cobblestone’s throw away
from ordinary, from eight pieces of broken
Cadbury bar you share with sweethearts,
in dinner jacket spaces for greenery
knotting contradictions as fishhook collapses,
‘til you get a timely toothache
from the broad cliché of it all.

I wasted visions,
they fade in splendor shades.

Those gaudy calling card posters,
to Poland, Latvia, Bangladesh,
stood for that sense of finding self,
that sense of taking cross-eyed punches
from summery states of grace, worthwhile fights
to put up in pleasured spin of mountaintop,
Primrose Hill declarations standing cool
light of wished unending,

in warming flicker of Tesco red.