Like a back-lot set between movies
Or a radio-active Soviet village, abandoned and vacant
The cold January sun illuminates
A first-day-of-the-year neighbourhood
Unmarked by human presence.

Snow skiffs are the only activity
And frosted, black-green lawns
Retaining their last tending in an icy stasis
Everything remains empty and frozen
As the clock ticks relentlessly
Into another year.