NO RACE NOW

 

 

No race now, just a pavement,

A loose selection of shops

And scrubby spots for dogs

To find their mark and shit.

 

People drift dispassionately

Along the lines that defined

The bunch, that held the

Hunched-up drama of a day

 

Long since settled over by

Time. Even the sky is blank.

It’s clouds, just clouds. Not

Chopped with rotor blades

 

And crackling bright static

Roar; the rising racket

Of choreographed chaos

Beneath, which was the race.

 

After the passage, the silent

Parade of the unexceptional

Resumes its place in the slow-

Beating breast of the world.

 

No race now. Just a pavement.

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