the petrol used to move them
also gave a sticky bitumastic residue
that was used to replace them
and the wet flags
became the damp sqiub
of nothing real left to celebrate
Not as disappointing as jubilee celebration
But as real as slippery hard stone
a mossy slate riverbed
cold as a sleetshower
biting into the cheeks
It brought me up short
I nearly fell
not an anti-climax
but anti climactic
as winter melted into spring
and the stone flags
were replaced by tarmac
and placed as an urban decay theme
in a posh garden