afternoon sunlight
glints on a fan of
telephone wires
escaping a pole
on the other side of
the road.
Two wires become white
against the pale, cold
blue of the sky
while the rest
become the skeleton
of a faded umbrella.
One wire hangs limp;
an oscillating wave
against reflected
window-sky.
Angela had eyes the
colour of that sky
and wires connecting
her jaw to her skull
and her smile never
seemed quite the same
after she was jumped by
four lads
who thought she was a
refugee
and didn't hear the
Brummie accent
when she begged them to
stop kicking her.
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