Pink Skied City

It is yet another bending breaking soon to be broken morning in this pink skied city.

Yesterday now as dead as the day before last,

Old suns have risen,

Old moons have passed.


Early cuffed and collard worm catchers all ruffled and already missing the nest hop from paving to slab.

These woken weary eyed few wander to where they are going all hurried and yet to arrive.

All pending their coffee. I-Phones already alight with all fingers blazing and smoking tips.

Heads down, on the move, no time.


Gulls finish what the drunk and dripping dregs discarded during yesterday’s darkest before the dawn morning.

The drunken dreary souls were all head down and guided by their takeaway compasses, now out and passed they lay in a dream of black and nothing. Regret sits on the end of their beds,

Desert mouthed, fizzing heads.


A one-legged pigeon wrestles a cigarette butt,

Sat next to the one-legged homeless man who wrestles the pigeon,

Only one thinks it is bread,

The other would smoke the bread.

This two-legged ball of forgotten flesh and frail feathers rolls down the soup gutters, washed away by a deluge of disapproving mutters.


A crumb few mice sized people all but fully mouse and yet to be cat shy,

Scurry out from their postcard stamp wallpaper mouse houses into this borrower world within a city.

Weighed down by their bursting backpacks of bind and bounded tree felled knowledge.

All amber in life eagerly awaiting the future green.


The goose stepping Traffic warden is up and already goosing and stepping the yellow lines.

His ink black pen as dry as a second-hand stick.


The coffee shops outnumber the coffee people.

They number more than all the grains of sand on every beach in all the world.

There is a person making coffee in an infinitive amount of coffee shops throughout an infinite amount of galaxies, however,

They are all here on this street.


The get and up and go runners are already up getting and going.

Laced up and clad in layers of lycra they attack the waiting to be concurred day,

Personal bests all set to be bested,

Back in time for a scientifically proven recovery drink,

Burn off the fat, push pass the brink.


Black block words on white wash boards assault the mind with reports of the first of the

days reports for us to mull over,

A handy helping of murder and macabre misery mind numbing news, before munching our

wholemeal high fibre fantastic fat-free sugar-free taste free buy one get one free everything

is free overpriced breakfast.


Tomorrow’s twilight dawn walk will be as uniquely the same as it is different.

Just another morning walk to work taking in the wonders of this pink skied city.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

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