Nora Baker
Night Street

Cobblestones sparkle with spat-out gum
Sides soft from sweat and rain
A dirty pink balloon leaks its last gasps
Air into a grey puddle.

Tiny, screaming souls of ants and worms
are crushed under spokes and tyres.

To the left, glistening chunks,
remnants of someone’s chicken dinner, oozing over gravel.

Snails glide round the chewed carcass,
marking their territory,
long, shiny tracks.

In a few hours, the heavens will open, to rinse away their trails.
And the sun will come to seal over these marks of existence
and encase them in the pavement.