He spoke his lines slowly, his face was a mask
Until the heart attack took him, dead on cue;
Then all the veils of his trade dropped from him
As he crumpled, ashenly, in a moment of searing pain.

In the small city garden the children, mesmerized,
Created scent from flowers, weeds and water 
Waited to be called in from play, to wash their faces
Brush their teeth, tumble into comfy, cold beds.

At opening time the public bar was suddenly full
With men struggling to dispel hangovers, guilt;
Passing fivers to the women they thought beautiful
Emblazoned with drink, they filled their spaces amply.

Evening crush of payday, black dogs chasing their tails,
And every record was a record of past defeats, of tiny
Victories. The football pools stiirred thoughts of money
As night drew on, all the red buses were bright and empty.

.