No Race Now - Ned Boulting

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.