Autumn

He jogs into town
drop his swimming gear in a skip
down a back lane in Summerhill Square
The leaves are turning tobacco brown
and gold, there’s a smell of smoke.
He stops in a kebab shop
buys a burger and sits on a high stool
staring at the bus station.
People with bags and tickets
going places, on the move.
Autumn’s in the air –
that restless breeze
blowing somewhere new.
That’s what I’ll do, he thinks.
I’ve not got much, but
I’ll head down south: Middlesbrough
Darlo, get away. Doesn’t matter
sleep rough or mebbes
get a job, a squat.
I’m like a bird, free and flying
off, leaving it all behind
the nest, the mess.

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