On my way to buy a morning paper #81

Car-shape dryness
in otherwise wet road
signifies an overnight stay
its placing -
anonymous, unclaimed -
suggesting illicit,
adulterous.
I look around and wonder
'Who?'

From my window

Six foot by two of fine foam wrapping

somersaults along the street

rolling and unrolling in preparation for its maiden voyage

as a magic carpet.

Until a tidy-minded neighbour scoops it up and bins it.

On my way to buy a morning paper #72

Sixteen pristine, two-thirds finished dog-ends

on the path beside the railings round the pub

from which I straightaway concoct

a late-night, muttered, intense and distressed conversation.

Another story?

Ahead of me a young man, good looking, emerges
slipping silently from behind a tall back gate.
Crosses the road and just as silently disappears behind another
 ... ah, but if he had, he surely would have been more furtive, more dishevelled?