He stands in the half light,
shakes the can
sprays his tag, a neat ‘S’,
swiftly, silently but for the hiss.
Then squeaks the green microfibre cloth
’til he sees himself clearly.
Category: Poems
Above the Truck Tyres
The truck tyres invert the rain,
and the up-droplets dance and
prance in parabolas,
leaping level,
synchronised in silver,
jumping just to there,
all rising with the racing,
and softening
as the driver slows.
Joe Spring writes 