Runcible Spoon

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But Dogs

 

Again

it seems

it isn't quite

but nearly

almost Christmas

 

and swipe me, smack on cue

the city's crackling like a bowl

of something puffed-up, sugar-frosted

and hollow in the middle.

 

Damn, it's cheerful.

 

 

Me,

I'm just an atheist

who wouldn't mind a saviour

– or, failing that,

  a buy-one-get-one-free on Toilet Duck.

 

A ghost with no time

for the supernatural,

 

I haunt the streets,

blend into crowds,

linger in the market:

 

invisible to everyone

but dogs.