Counter Culture
They dance like cigar smoke,
folding on the beat and rising again
halve and double in size every song.
I’m nothing, watching them,
a bottle rack with limbs
that flail like pendulums.
Shrinking before my eyes,
I try to grasp it
but my arms sink me to the floor.
I feel like litter floating into the road,
the sun’s my only friend
as I’ll soon be exiled and fossilised.
Unless.
It could be.
I'll blink, it'll pass.
They drift like cigar smoke,
pupils as darkened as chimneys,
the window shuts out their cries.
I’m no one standing here,
waiting for the sirens
to lull me to sleep.
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