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It’s moments like this

when the barman goes through the back

and leaves me alone

a radio whispering

somewhere amongst the glasses

- I’m through with love -

the way the traffic slows

to nothing

how all of a sudden

at three in the afternoon

the evening’s already begun

a nascent


By ten I’ll be walking away

on Union Street

or crossing Commercial Road

in a gust of rain

and everyone who passes

will be you

or almost you

before it’s someone else.