It’s A Sign
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.