the night is a …
you know don’t what the …
a stranger message
snow turning to
foot colding wet
not strange purpose
an unattributed number
dark evening neon clichés
colours of lost hope
could be rushed
could be deuxième langue
wanting a drink
booked conversation absent
rain glitter the asphelt
december disappoints
many shapes carrying small bags
but not my books
i was asked to ring
perhaps i should ring
another bag under a brolly
not mine