Six fat motorbike-men,
the chromehorse-stable to the side
by the dormant tracks,
speak gruff ‘n all the same
(There’s a fleet of feet
on boards that break the water,
padd’ling with their long, long sticks.).
Collection time for someone;
someone’s stuff is there;
this breezesome morning – bracing
(A wolf?! No – a husky dog!)
[An engine neighs at the stables
saying (loudly): “I’m ignited!”
making ev’rybody jump.].
People write beep for a car-horn,
but I could swear
it just went:
Itzyer thoughts out-loud,
with random punctuation.
Ah, the ragman draws circles,
up ‘n down the block…