Estate agent “for sale” signs,
heralding the housing apocalypse.
Financial Armageddon, doom and gloom in the city
St. Pauls gazes on at protesters camping on concrete.
Rumours of job losses and new bosses; endings with no beginnings;
as one door closes, another shuts, taking your fingers off.
Stinky food smells in the office after lunch;
the blur of whizzing numbers at the petrol pump.
My receding gumline, hairline, and an ever so slightly,
twinge in the left side of my chest.
All these, and other terrors of mine, that gather,
and congregate like winter Starlings on a TV ariel.