York

The greasy Chinese
the empty Mexican
king’s ransom alien
filled with dinner tables

balloons down Micklegate,
clatter of York buses
                mixed with high heels.

On the bridge    a chatter of shaven heads
searching for acres of leg.

Club queue crowd claps
as unleashed balloons
relevate the rafters an’
scale the roof tops
to escort the late wind
                 to a mid-pop night into the
sky!

I say salut!

YORK