Morning in Westcliff-on-Sea

The truck full of tyres
like a roll of muscles,
glistening with the dew of 7am.
The pile of tar left by the roadside
when they were going through their
'resurfacing phase'
now moulded to the ground
like fossilized dinosaur shit.
The race of snails
ebbing their way
from gutter to railway line
to the promise of damp,
more damp.
A tale told by a split dustbin bag
picked over by foxes,
a party paper chase of the night before:
sausage rolls
Special Brew
Tesco Value vodka,
a Kerry Katona trail.
The token abandoned car
windows put through
five party balloons curiously bobbing
on the passenger seat.
A Tilbury train skims past,
pocked with a few passengers
going the Lakeside way.
I start my day.