A soft tear in the car
Parked in there, beside me
Cars come, cars go, doors open
Doors close, the gardener rides by
On his miniature tractor
The singer sings
Of perfect sense
He sings; in the past
And also in the present tense
Black clothes; handshakes
Laughter, footsteps
Footsteps on tarmacadam’s solid earth
Friday is a good day to move on
