I was sitting opposite this guy one Friday evening. We were both waiting in the lobby of one of the bigger multi-national companies in Dublin. He had the camera ready to go for the weekend. The words for the poem came quickly.
Armani Stops at our House
Ferrari
sunbathing on the verge,
Armani
surveyed from the wall.
Rolex
grinning up a cuff,
Nikon
stole grand-dad’s gappy smile.
Ray-bans
snapping the moment shut,
Gucci
stepped from the grass;
Pirelli
spat dust into our gateway.
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