Drowning out the light of the moon,
The Jumbotrons swim along the street,
Coughing perpetually, spitting battery acid
On the man who may as well be invisible.
Invisible to who? And what may he do?
From the streets the answer may sound –
Encouraging or in utmost despair,
Damage the fold of your fluffy coat.
While the blocks revolve round puzzles of irony to solve,
Plagues and problems and muddled things
Reside in ever-deepening, evaporating puddles,
Gasping for the mercy of fresh rain.