Divided by sound waves only
I watch them from the megastore,
headphones on, it's Smoky,
"my mother told me,
son you'd better shop around".

Ships
which reveal the shoreline's message
unload their cargoes of men,
even the Rambos tempt
and in the voguish mews
there's a song-and-dance queen
on each landing.

Gideon comes,
slumping from an arch of rolled steel
at the stale-brick river bend.
(An uneven inkling of his appearance.)

He's quiet in the alley
it's only dancing fingers
unzipping bulging leather.