James Walton #57 Leary's therapy session

This town in the gap

past Lightning Breach

between two cellophane dispensers.

I worked stranding the wool clip

with other women,

until someone in the federation complained.

A place with lime green tiles still,

and Royal on all the sign writing.

He had to let me go.

A pity,

then had to pop in for a quick one,

a smell of deodoriser pellets

where the whiff has an unpronounceable flavour.

Over sized cops

chased a pair from the upended car.

All the noise of pin striped assimilation

collected on the kerb,

fell to guttered leaves.

The station master told me

the ticket could only be purchased on line,

but son, you can’t do that here.