Cherry St. Sours (Poetry Monthly)

Sherbet sunset fizzes into a blurry rainbow of e-numbers

over the diesel scented city-scape

sink into the lullaby of matt-chalk smog

be my bed tonight buzzing sky

it’s damp beside the sour bin-liners

bone against oil tin skinning-up to take the metal out of the edge

too much silver in cars today

sweet colour leaks into the sky and is blown away

leaving the wrappings behind

I long to lick the Opal Fruit of a lemon Citroen

or suck on the pink nose of a tart tram

machines growl through the furry streets

gobstopper eye balls roll after them

from the cold greasy-green of the hollows

clickity-clack dares to dance on the coiled pavement

as night swallows the last tender drop of comfort.