TOO SHORT TO GRUMBLE:

Breath between lips turns into clouds. Red wires turn into music.
A blusher-ed face turns into a frown. Smoke from a fire blows up
the street, a man wanders dazed in the middle of the road.
A mother wraps her head in a giant ball of wool for protection.
Black Dog turns into a smile, levitates above pavements, waving
to laughing children. A big man smokes alone in an alley.
Everything is pure honey, nothing is too much, foot lifts off the
pedal.
Now here comes ‘the one’, the first song sung, walking tall in
vagabond-chic. He’s got money tucked away, it’s obvious if you look.
Never seen it so clear before. Thought he was down & out& finished,
but no, he’s the man, the dude, King-Big-Stick. Smiles radiant
from his eyes in deep lines, laughter sheltering in his beard.

(K)