A single scrawl across a frozen puddle,
the ice webs across the water beneath it,
which restricts its urge to create waves,
and keep its surface as calm as
necessary.
A pressure felt across this greyed
out city; streetlights which shatter
in tandem, create a shower
of privatised glass, which embeds
itself into each of our pores.
In the abandoned garages
and office blocks, a small gang break
windows, each brick thrown chimes
a different note, like untuned piano keys,
a melody no one can follow.
The hours tick, as these streets
Hang pensively, any warmth
now a distant trek. The bars now
hang empty, signalling this celebration
ended months ago; those left
in the Town Hall chambers,
finally drink the dust from their glasses.
