Snowflakes and  livid.

Pick me up in the passing Winter.
Snow threatened, train timetables
bidding for curtailment.
The past shone resolute
Health and Safety was a by-line
but today's invidious un-motivation
has its own Cellophane steering wheel
to pace  our growing passivity.

A winter simpleton
haunched wind free
brash the toiling pressures.

You never have to be a flower again
or play those kettle drums, Sheba
bygone from sleeves, dalliances worn.

You're naive
like a chiselled wood cut,
worse still you're all alone
the rage has worn through,
autumn shades flicker
eyesore,
you rub your occasional disbelief,
childlike glances dim further
the available light
retorting again.

The High Street at first was marked
with Charity Shops forever in lieu
came the Pound Shops.
Old Brands stayed with us
but in turn the internet compounded the decline
perhaps cyber shopping is akin to playing pong,
the familiars, like a fire-storm evaporated,
music, bookshops, photography
whose to know the next stage?
but I bet the inner city will be hamlets
of chiefdoms,
Gertrude the concrete cow
adorned with Golden paint
and urban Cowboys
duelling in Midnight Charades

1978 Liebfraumilch on the road to definition
with Joanna,
she danced in 1971, un shy with fringed  mini skirt
to yet  indeterminate  future carousels,
but the years have button holed her
executive responsibilities
glass ceiling you see,
but there's always the possibility
that without the drink she'll smile discretely
parfait