The ghosts of the waltzing revellers are no match
for the bankers’ bullies and their agents, so
shaking the dust from their Sunday best
they stagger from the ruins and wander
in pairs towards Kent Station.
Some head south and some head north.
A couple float Chagall-like
over the abandoned mills.
The rest drift into the city-centre
and foxtrot in the hollow shopping malls,
or take their shoes off and recline
on the steps of the Capitol Cineplex –
all their spirits fading into summer’s end.