Vignettes

They're taking down the town flags
on the last day of the art festival
wobbling up ladders and
rolling up the bunting for another year.

A couple kiss outside the Italian;
in their late sixties, in
white linen on a June Saturday evening and
she stands on tiptoes and
he envelopes her in the embrace
under the restaurant's green canopy.

On a train into town,
a spent bottle of prosecco rolls around
the empty seats.

Under the glowing,
peppermint moon,
boy racers line their cars up
like a toddler's Hot Wheels
outside the closed amusement park.
Doors open, boots up:
they nod to each other
in tracksuited admiration.