Take the second exit

An Icarus with a witness,

almost fell today,

caught itself instead,

above a roundabout,

bottom of the street,

around fourteen storeys up –

had there been a building

in that space, not air –

filled with rasping corvids,

jabbing at a lone indignant

rival, sparrowhawk, reduced

to scrapping over hazy sky,

very nearly overwhelmed,

but no one really noticed,

rush hour cars kept coming,

oblivious to all but road,

red and black, silver, blue,

relentless, petrol-powered

roulette balls, spinning on

through space, drivers lurching

into gaps, desperate for their exit.