Emotion scoops the footpath's velvet edges,
estate agents' bluster calibrates the street's
livability, treeless, ajar with fridges
bunked out. Investors wave sheets
of sums to air, a tiny computer chalked
on glass, loving the artist's marble noose
in adjacent pop-up gallery they might've forked
out for, but didn't. It was no use
crying now though her vale of tears candies
a conquest, with stuck name tag and good insurance
that barely cost a sou. A countdown into space
echoes, blue lorikeets flit the race
and pigeons chew the eaves for reassurance
over suckling locals and tourist dandies.