In an old space
altered beyond recognition
as two floors, three at a push
become one
and a huge shark is replaced
by a great white plaster wall
and a DJ, one-eared at his phones
sways where once
a crocodile swam
with a chipped face
as it bore us on its back
inexplicably halved
by an old oil drum.
Yet I recall the emptiness
and the atmosphere
before the revellers come
sitting like a regular
waiting for the rest.
The newly fat
and recently bald
or greying
reminds us
that it wasn’t yesterday.
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