Faithful honey melon sun
flickers bullion through lazy haze.
But woe, woe, the FTSE is down.
...
The silence of the suburbs,
ebony still.
Coolly gazing heaven
loosely fingers
...
I see them all the time,
snatching a quick drink
between sales,
meetings
...
A storm is grating the ocean,
but in the café
an elderly couple are warm with now.
They sit mostly silent,
...
I joined
Workaholics Anonymous
but found myself
staying late
...
The shore relaxes
as the setting summer sun
follows the tramp home
of barmy burnt beach lovers
...
I don’t have to look forward to a Friday
or face the melancholy truce of a Sunday Eve.
No more counting weekend hours
till the dreaded bell of Death Monday tolls.
...
Across the quay
sit
discarded old woman.
Saggy sea-beat sacks of flesh,
...