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After the Election

Pre-dawn lies over the city

In a blanket of mist winking

Here and there from red to green and back


Ships in the bay lie anchored

In faint pools of light hardly breathing

The sounds of their ocean journeys


Waves lap slow, swish back to sleep

Against the edge of wakefulness

On the wharf the bins are empty


The last eyeless fish heads have been picked

By crows or carried off by cats to be eaten

At midnight in some guarded gutter     


Under streets the presses rumble, print

And fold as stacks are packed away

A new president has been chosen


The traffic lights blink on and off

Ships slumber, cats rest on garbage heaps

In four years nothing will change

The docks, the wharf, the cats will remain

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© Johnmichael Simon



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