Okay - first draft so don't laugh. I write a few more versions before it is finished. let me know what you think.
I spend last Wednesday evening down at the Barbican in Plymouth and so found this from somewhere this morning.
Plymouth Hoe
Sea mist gone.
The path rain-patterned -
blobs of gum,
hammered into liver-spotted
stone by
infinite footfall on
Friday night.
On its knees it
drags at the skirts of
theatre goers - begging to be
seen, noticed, appreciated. But
the high-heeled harlots beep
their cars awake and hurry home.
And yet, harbour boats
sparkle, lit lanterns sway.
As the rain, come and gone
remains - encasing the cobbles
reflecting what she once was.
Hope cemented in the
cracks and the
seagulls' cry.
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