Déjà vu (You’ve heard it all before)

A dull lull ...
The airborne copper chokes.

A slight green blip, you note, resists
extinction. Throats and throttled heights cannot.

No superhero swings
or swoops through town. No sirens summon help.

It’s your dry dream in which
the gaze snags on a lofty silhouette,

appalled at what it sees:
boomtown darkened. Humanity blacked out.

And yet how obvious
it is: that aghast figure, and the rest.

You’ve had this dream before.
you woke and watched your neighbour mow his lawn.

You woke (perhaps you’ve dreamt
this much) and watched commuters sway and snore.

You’ve had this dream. You’ve had
this dream already. Dreamt this stifled park.

You dreamt it all already,
this arid scream in amber. So you call

the future: *déjà vu*.
Somehow, it still sticks you to your plinth.