The kind of day that urges you to observe.
Learn what time-kissed Victorian bricks exist,
drink and reminisce above the high street.
Soar for a while, before hooked back to ground.
Our Member of Parliament is storming down
that beloved stretch of patterned cement.
Stand fully charged, a magnet waiting for contact.
Lenses in my sockets analyse wicked entourage,
while my options flick through a rolodex of responses.
An influx of questions, injustice and inquiries. Like
all those stories stuck in permanent sun dawn,
meaning there's always hope but never warmth.
Polished black shoes now by the ironic news-
agents. I contemplate resorting to expletives
but fear the irrelevance of a rampaging elephant.
Among the fantasy fireworks, my sparkler drowns.
A rebellious town resident repelled without glance.
Reduced to the blue rosette on that expensive lapel.
Poem #17 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'.
