Whilst slipping out of the main street,
I reach for the feel of torn paper.
Fiddling a small ball of blu tac
that is squeezed into a round circle.

Make sure no one sees me.
For I have my way of putting up
a sophisticated form of graffiti;
Poetry.

In one glide of effort,
the black ink that is a poem
contrasts well with the white paper
and now a brick wall.