The smoker's cough
rattles the lungs of ignition
the milk cart wake
is strewn amongst the perches
above the factories of blazered
fugitives
attack life with fear and sap
packing the rush staccato.
While mail drops thud on carpet
moments after years lost outside my window
like the billow of human remains
that spills towards the city huddle
where industrial shunting cold of the 6.30
lingers across the tired face of autumn.