A DOLL’S HOUSE:

Two purple plastic flamingos in the window, kissing, trackside
without stopping. A story of home birds, written in a fancy hand
for a touch of class. A valley of cows glimpsed at speed, comedy
blobs of black & white on green. One last remaining factory chimney
bursts out of the earth, a brick baby bird, face upturned, suckles
a nipple with crusty lips. Razor wire dances along the tops of walls,
surgically precise with intent. Numbers on sticks nest in Autumn brier,
cables sheathed in asbestos runs alongside our steely twins, ducks
beneath bridges eaten alive by Elder. A dirty rocket slips out of town,
reveals the solitary chewing man suddenly exposed – Buster Keaton cool.

(K)