LOTS ROAD, 1982

The Volvo slows, its driver's window winding down.
Even here you are being followed.

'To Let' signs jut from the warehouse walls
Like discoloured flags, stiffened with salt

And two boys stacking empty beer kegs
To climb the corrugated iron fence
Of the last scrap yard, a stone's throw from the river,

Stop where they are-they're not running,
They're waiting to see what happens next.

* * *

Another day, it might be the civic parade
Beginning with the sound of distant drums

And any moment now there'd be the band
Of the Boys' Brigade come marching into view,
Making a noise to wake the dead.

Today, there's a woman singing-
It could be in Port of Spain-but her voice
...