i think about those shadows a lot,

long thin and cruel

like the slender hands

of a well-known baddie

what could be worse really,

practically & poetically than

taking the light away from someone -

no more sunflowers in the front,

those afternoons spent following

the sun patch around the bed,

like a clock handle

now light falls like

deadly pennies from 16 floors up -

they don’t kill you, you know

but will make you feel worse,

sadder and meaner with a constant  

bother in your head

and just now comes the wind

racing crisp packets round like

rabbits at the track,

an empty wotsits bag clinging to your skirt

and it never used to blow like this round here

the rubbish used to stay in the bins

all this shadows and wind - we’re in

a dark and whipped up neighbourhood now

and they have the cheek, loudly

to wear yellow