A motor-bike revs by the new flats.
I could look back and see…

The snake-hipped man sitting with the old woman
come to slake their fantastic lust –
scattering in all directions, at their wits’ end,
smiling mysteriously at the dead man.
(His silence was only another form of grief.)

Stood with my back to the sink,
I wish I might digress and tell you more.

[Found poem created by summing the alphanumeric values of ‘realism’ (=77), and choosing a line from that page of each novel on the module I’m teaching at UEA.]