No parking on

market days.

Wednesdays,

between 6.00am and 6.00pm.

Even though the market’s

long gone,

packed away by three,

and all that remains in

empty parking bays are

mouldy oranges and

bits of broccoli.

Don’t dare park there

because we’re watching you.

Remember that.

We’re watching YOU.

Don’t forget to smile

at the CCTV vultures that

sit up on high,

craning their necks and

whirring into position

to get you into focus,

communicating with their

talking lamppost cousins.

Following you, stalking you,

all the way home.

Zooming in and peering through that gap in

your bedroom curtains at your

reflection in your wardrobe mirror.

Surveillance pornography.

You shouldn’t mind if you

have nothing to hide

is the politician’s credo.

But I do mind.

It’s a sign.