Looking at rucksacks

Deja what?
here with no view
into the underground
back to the zoo.

got a feeling that the glass
in this ceiling is cracked
and I’d rather break through it
than have to look at it.

Revisiting to solicit the facts
about tracks and tracts I once
pored over, But
now I’m under
ground.

In front of me
something that looks like a yeti
sat next to a bald headed gent
and I wonder if he ever meant to
go bald.

The postman
well he’s always sat there
a comb over style in his
thinning hair
and the girl in the leathers
don’t know whether she’s a spy
but
she could be.

Mr horn-rimmed
skims through the news
more of the déjà what
who’s
counting anyway,
it’s still Monday and that’s
all that matters.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.