Walk along an edge.

Walk along an edge.

The edge is undefined, past customers
who consume with indefinate indifference
the delicacies of taste, past a border-line
cut into the surface - past the sentries who stand

paper cut outs in the non wind,
gaily gaudy in their uniforms, who know
with a kind of selective hatred what goes - 
and gives, and what size you are...

As if it matters.  In the book shop, the sale
is in full swing, the chat of this to that, rings
at the till.  I move on, clutch at straws strewn
across the exit.  Has it made me any different?