TuesdayI September

A man, sartorially dressed.

Scrapping the end of a thining wedge,
Hardcore,
On a tether.
Sticking to the grace of Godlessness.

Windless windswept peppery hair,
Swept under the clamp of ear phones, big as crumpets.
Sallow skin slung on bones.

High polish on brogues,
Together enough to purchase polish.
And use it.
Expensive shirt,
Proud enough to plug in an iron.
And use it.
M&S V-neck,
Young enough (just) to make old, new.
Apple MAC and skinny jeans.

Tell-tale signs:
Beacons in medusa's sockets.
Panic scratching the eyes from within.
Nostrils snort against the windows,
Creating hot haloes.

It is in the hastily packed shaver.
The signs of pulled together togetherness.
You are scanning for dangers that were never there.