Turnstiles

Laughing?
it’s flamin’ hysterical
Summer and June
soon be July
wonder why
It’s raining.

Craning my eyes just to
see if time flies in a
straight line,
and it’s true what they say
that every man has a way
of dealing with feelings.

The overview.

Do it now and do it how
you want it to be done.

global warming?
I see no sun,
there are only the tired
and distressed, the
suicidal
but I’m not impressed
it’s nothing new, you
do what you want
and what I want
I’ll do too.

There’s a fog dripping down
that will dress London Town
in battleship grey.

John Doe knew
what I didn’t know,
that it’s better to go
unnamed
unknown
incognito
the show will continue
to run
but
where has the sun gone?

Not necessarily necessary
but
you either get this
or you don’t

I’m in two minds
being that
my mind’s not made up.

looking at pedestrians
are they ostriches
or
rooster hens?

Pen’s in hand to record my views,

Thus
Tuesday chooses which way this will go,
be it king of the castle
or a
marauder below

John Doe knew and never told
and I’m to old
to worry

still watching pedestrians scurry
becoming umbrellas that
hurry along,
and above the fog that dresses the town
St. Paul who lives in that fancy cathedral
stifles a yawn, sneezes
and then looks down
but
doesn’t see a thing.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.