A nearly-new town

A nearly-new town

Early morning splutters

Under the weight of another shower

The smell of coffee and bacon

Wafts from a greasy spoon with Formica tables

A woman sits in a doorway smoking

A ready-made

Held between two fingers and a thumb, army style

Probably cadged from a teenager

I look around for a sniper

But only see a group of children in school uniforms

Vaping

Nobody knows the trouble they’ll see

But the growl from a passing stranger

Alerts the group to danger

And they disperse

Leaving the path to the toilets clear

For the old lady on a disability scooter

So many people step into a new day

In isolation

Everyone with a different outlook

Perception is everything

As the sun breaks through from behind a cloud

The stream of light lending colour

To the drabness of the town centre

With its concrete seats and empty shopfronts.

Dirty net curtains hang

At the windows of the flats above

So many faces twitch in darkness

Looking out from behind grubby panes

At a wasteland.

Not so very far from a peace sign

Painted on a doorway

Stands a man with a swastika tattooed

On his neck

A Staffy licks at the dirt

That might be blood, on his master’s boot

Nobody makes a move to intervene

In a domestic dispute

As the panda police wait for their tea

To arrive in a plastic cup

The drunk in the back seat is sleeping it off

This is not Peterloo

But a massacre always seems to be just around the corner

They used to call the vans Black Maria’s

But that was a long time ago

Now they have rapid response vehicles

They never go to break-ins

Or domestic wrangles

There is nothing in it for them

But paperwork

And who needs to keep a record

Of their day

When another one will come around tomorrow