High Street

a man I have never seen before
enters the corner petrol station
summer night, pre-pay pump
when teenagers buy icypoles

something in the way he comes
says he is alone, perhaps
the way he thumbs the fifty note
held as though a baby bird
you know he’ll pick the Maxibon
and Gatorade, a two-for-one

street is primed for night walking
before concert, after film
skyline bleeding phosphorescent
tangerine and curdled cream

this neighbourhood plays host
to tiny ghosts, entitled;
felines pawing garbage cans
leathery cloaked fruit bats
men cradling Big Ms
women, sporting friends