The Boats Come In. Poem by Graham Leese

Animals started tumbling
from their shelves
seemed
the pet store’s climbing. Mountains
they tend to stay put
but today the trees talk
in agitated agony,
gossip from the deadbeat
stars. Fire hydrants strike,
pink apples lolled in the road,
car crashes
and tram smashes
inevitable. Pickup trucks
Span in unison just like that time in the 50’s
beehives bundled into backseats; gloves getting
down in the dumps while the trash trashed
the alleys, alley cats kicking up a storm in
the perfumeries, kids knocking down soldiers
ready to dip their eggs, men running to their
wives while a thousand empty briefcases lined
the main road.