Copenhagen Clippings Part 2

A blackboard, white chalk scrawl advertising "fresk fisk" (fresh fish) for all!
Raindrops slippery sliding down glass mountainsides, underbellies showing off to the lackadaisical worker peering upwards, mind a thousand miles away
A golden retriever, musty, sodden and marinated in mischief, hiding behind a furrowed furry brow
A gardener, covered in life, his once extant mop of hair now eroded completely by the elements, leaving a head so shiny the vain sun might detect her reflection upon it
Town-square football tussles, the players' sonorific bodies pealing with, all at once, sweat, exhaustion and thrill
A white paper bag, crumpled, replete with crumbs, chin whiskers and laughter's crusts
A neon chicken turned zulu warrior, ejecting bright white eggs, whose ethereal glow shows up even the best camouflaged limpets at the base of the murky harbour waters
A hotel boat, moored to a dock by little more than the finest cotton and luck; a candy-cane red door ajar, exposing a television wailing inside a dim room, whose quite simply had enough of the fuss
A restaurant, music bopping, waiter sailing by as though on roller-skates, tutti-frutti coloured vinyl chairs glistening in the moonlight, sounds of conversation, nobody there
A pub, dug beneath the side-walk, soft amber light, a jazz band celebrating the friction of stuff
A wall, blue hue un-dampened by the darkness of night, primped red roses enchanted in conversation, oblivious to the shuffling of passers by
A box of baby sausages, twisted and tangled together by the hand of a baby butcher, squeezed full of pepper, only to be corroded by acid in the tum of a Dane later tonight
A church spire, so tall and grand, it had forgotten the shape and feel of a cobble stone
A message on a computer to a girl who is in Brussels
An Oxonian, black bob, lamp-like eyes, emerald scarf, fresh from traversing the deep North Sea
A concrete cave, stacked full of fluro cotton clothes, hiding the blood and sweat shed in their making, screaming to be bought, but nobody hears cos the music is too damn loud
A child holding a bulls-eye coloured kitten, so delicately, with such adoration, you'd not know it was stuffed unless you held your ear to its silent cotton-wool purr-box
A young boy crossing the road in grass green overalls so big you could fit his mirror image in either side, gumboots bravely fronting the treacherous puddles beneath his feet whose evil must be stamped out at all cost
A wall looking for a crack
A crack looking for the perfect putty
A jar labeled 'beetroot', its blood-coloured juices hiding the absence of any root
A starling taunting the gentle evening breeze like a kitten to a ball of wool
A stainless steel kitchen benchtop telling the story, in a million different spots and crumbs, of a week's worth of 20-something's fulfilling their consumptive needs
A toothbrush, lonely to be lying on its bony plastic back, staring at the uneventful plasterboard ceiling above
A limp
A hiccup
A smile