The Cigarettes of Others

Beneath the night-foxes of North Parade,
Michaelmas Sunday in the sudden rain.

Beneath elephant-skin and tortoiseshell,

the last time I saw the first friend I made.
Beneath the below, the above begins

with an overtaking whiteness in the underpass,

that streak of recklessness we never had,
(well, so be it) as we race back in time,

piercing the dark with the cigarettes of others -
...