I can see into the empty offices
and on the far bank, through archways,
a factory yard frames groves
of plastic crates stacked onto pallets,
where trucks jackknife
to reverse park.
It’s quiet here between shows. The river
side hotel advertises cable tv,
empty balconies (a single chair
and aircon units) level with the traffic.
Clouds are building. Through a break
XXXX.
Observe: a sign flashes, a man walks
across to the hostels on Roma.
Thunder is in the air, it’s time
-lapse, incremental, and no-one
lifts their heads, as cars exit
the bridge to approach the roundabout.
I address the park – soft-headed
with grasses, formal with bike paths,
where only water-pipes and stop-cocks
lie prone on the grass.