Growing strangers

The dusk burned evenly to a warm brown toast
street by street lamps gave hints of here and there
grew carbon copies that slid instinctively along  pavements
only the etched, shady ladies stood back to scoop
strangers unfamiliar with the sex of theft 

The stray dogs sauntered; always a stone's throw from scraps
street dwellers taking coin and curses in equal measure
grew to love midnight instrumentals fired by alcohol
only one string of a busking line left in their morning cups
strangers make the strangest friends 

'The end is nigh' billboard man slept in his walkabout warning
street comedians who'd tailed off his message with a titillating t
grew sombre as the message dawned on their desecration
only a God can scatter the wind and weep up a tempest to see
strangers growing on stony soil and every street

Taking inspiration from Eric Baus’s ‘Burning Zither’ and the community of fellow poets in the Poetry Pantry