Runcible Spoon

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But Dogs



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.




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.