Oppression

oppresion

There’s a mass to the evening.
It’s flattened the ocean.
It’s crushing the crowds
In a crop circle motion.
The centre has settled
Above the old town.
Now it’s using its ballast
To hold the streets down.
There’s a heat that’s been folded
And stacked up in mounds.
All the air has been sucked
From the lungs of the ground.
On a night such as this
It is better to wait
With a pint in your hand
As the force dissipates.

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