Anxious Donkey

Sneaky, to trick eye, as big as the cars behind blurred in white fence. And the antenna that launch out of them! Not telephone poles, but weary masts of rickety vehicles, that are, luckily, like everything in this light, dead still. It would be a different image perhaps, if the pool was brimming jelly waves. Lapping and terrifying watering hole, with bigger bodies splashing shapes. But little plastic feet still get warm on concrete, that's been heated everyday since the end of summer, and don't forget the creeping shadow behind; a spiking point that a throw of night will delve all into dark blue and moonlight. Then all to do is know, in the peripheral of vision, that the orange beacon in the corner is showing everything's still

Still;

and the wires haven't moved and tangled round the edges.