heaped like childhood touch and smell
and colours of the carousel 
an empty street 
where no ghosts meet 
painted houses 
cowboy trousers
and over there 
beware the bear
nearer here
ice cold beer 
which charms a cobra hockey stick 
that rises up and dares to lick
above the hapless toungueless skull 
alas poor Yorick, life has come full
circle no more magic tricks 
you'll never ride route sixty six 
much less drink Pepsi, munch a Tayto
where did summer sunshine's day go 
rage like Dylan Thomas might 
against the dying of the light
paint vibrant colours false but sweet 
paint men on horseback on our lonely street  



by Richard Ball