A shadow trampled his man as he walked up under the streetlamp.
He dug his cigarette into the black sole ,
not his ciggy really,
he poached it off his chimney friend.
He waited there, yellow earth for a companion.
And a empty carton of appy,
leaking its last bile onto the dark sky.
Eagerly waiting for a disappointment.
And a disappointment is like ..
prawns?
an allergy to expectation.