Cool water.
Reflective, impenetrable.
It reluctantly catches the limpid light.
But I can still feel the cold seeping, creeping.
The rats.
They gather together by the banks.
Trembling amongst the paper cups and crisp packets.
Sheltered from the damp of the wild grasses
and the rising river woe.
The lights from the screaming retail outlets bounce off the water’s edge.
They join forces with saris, hoodies and acidic trainers
And pink fluffy unicorns with long matted manes.
Colourful slashes breaking the grey.
Yet there is a perceptible dragging and a weighing down
More than just shopping bags, lumpy and distorted
More than the carved out and disappointed grimaces
Heavy with the knowledge that it is what it seems.
The manager is playing hooky and his gang has left the building.
