Monday, 7 March 2016
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.