Houses held up like puppets.
Pylon-wire branches spread out;
assuring the land wont drift far out to sea,
or melt into the earth with subsidence.

Cotton-wool-candy-floss caught up in cranes,
wind-whipped, white-wash, wispy, whippy clouds.

Do you remember when we waited in line for 99s?
The sky was busy with boats, the sea so blue. No, I mean...
And I had strawberry syrup dripping down my cone
and a multi-coloured sticky chin.
We watched the boats going out, coming in;
then we joined the rest to say goodbyes.

        All the hands were wagging; electric flapping.
        Water splashing up against the dock.
        The arms propelled the ship.
        Gemmed fingers dancing farewells;
        the jangle of bangled wrists;
        waving in the air, propelling the ship away
            to retirement paradises,
                          honeymoon bliss,
                                         champagne seascapes.

Always in the middle this place,
on the edge of a million-gazillion other worlds.

The rumble rattle of engines as I walk along
to look out at the reeds; on search for quiet idleness.
Leaves rustle, tickled by the breeze.
A train passes in-between;
                   on its way, on its way...
I sit on a bench nearby and hear a hum of life amongst the hedges.

Then,
walk back
with orange light bouncing in and out
of windows' winking eyes;
watching the chalk line,
aeroplane trails in the sky
cut through the blue.