No players decorate this football pitch; instead
Abandoned storage drums three-quarters full
Of rancid disappointment stand around
While dirty goalposts gather rust, condemned
To wait forever in this silent field.
Today at work I weighed some clouds; they nestled
In their fallen bowl
Subdued by accidental dreams
Instead of bursting rain or taking shape.
Last night my dreams were made of wood
They creaked and sang as all
The xylene vapours made their great escape.
Tomorrow night I’ll wait for you
On the corner of Radium Street again
Watched by a moonlit poster hanging torn
From the wall of an abandoned shop. The dust
In the window remembers me, though you do not.