to repel friends; in a dark
Gieves and Hawkes suit.
It gives it away, wearing
an ironed red shirt and blue silk tie,
in 25 degrees C plodding
down the street. With neat hair
and no shades to hide
his uninterested gaze,
he’s always on foot.
The height of the sun
is his P45. He doesn’t
want inclusion. In autumn
he’ll don his Crombie
with matching black
polished brogues.

I don’t know his agenda
but he’s a beacon
in a town of fast-food,
tattoos and hoodies.

22/7/13