Tuesday, 15 September 2015


Sitting on a window ledge

In the early hours

An exhaust backfired

He watched the smoke spiral

Towards the

Sunset street lights

And wondered

About people

so disposable.

Drunk on memory

He shifted

On the edge of belief.

Concrete hope

was all that held him.

Strident laughter

cut through the silence

But he failed

to see the funny side.