The same rainbow’s end

People were walking down

The brick filled street of

Bricky maisonettes, walking

With the gait of woodland

Strolling, nowhere stepping

Just moving for the feeling

The view, and maybe a pub lunch.

Not today, some took a path

Straight down the tarmac, just

To add variety, for a different feel,

Like dried out lava, on island beaches.

Occassionally, they move aside,

To let a car or JustEat bike pass,

Calcuttans swerving for a holy cow.

Another, on my side of the pavement

He has two small kids in tow, so

I cross over, give up my sunnier

Track, they have the right of way.

Another now on the shady side,

Coast is clear, I move back to the

Sunny side after a brief going

Down the middle of the road, over

The white line, thinking how it looks

Like a food voucher – “Cut here along

The dotted line”.

Winds blow off the Wanstead Flats,

Three bald guys add a touch of frying

Fat to the gust. Their open barbeque is

Borderline criminal, but I smile across

From my side. The air is otherwise

Free, I spot a lone rainbow arching

Over the word “Hope” written

Carefully by a child.

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