urbem venalem et mature perituram, si emptorem invenerit
The rain had come and washed them out into the gutters
gurgling their trade. ‘Cigarette?’ I shook my head.
‘Do you want business?’ they said.
There are ossuaries in our great city, of the dead
there are no memories only heat. Ash and bone
white ends and yellowed nicotine collect.
The waiters sloshed the night into the street.