Mr Blow on the Ghost Train in loving memory. Everybody rolling,
slow motion spiders fall out of trees. The music of black top
sings to rubber rings. Flags flutter in a cool breeze, cast long
shadows, wave goodbye to summer. Discarded left-overs, last nights
bones exposed at the fun fair. Here he comes in cowboy hat & shades.
Leans back, one hand on the wheel, mobility scooter, one on the leash
of a tiny white dog scratching cold dirt, mobility scooter.
Tomorrow & all it’s fears are a pack of thieves. Phone a friend.