682: TN22

Seven AM,
just me and the dog,
on the piled steps
of the lifestyle shop,

as an off-white van
rumbles up the hill,
leaving a rolled cloud
of diesel ill-will,

blaring inanity
with windows wound down.

A commuter snarls,
bent into her frown,

striding with a latte
to catch the train,
her life evaporating
within London (again).

And then the false dawn
of amber street lights
kill themselves off
as she departs this life.

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