Greyhounds take the curve in a spray
of damp sand the colour of mustard.
A man presses his belly to the barrier,
dreaming of Christmas.
By 9pm, the chalkboards shine with hieroglyphs.
Dogs' names become entries
from an abandoned to-do list:
Friday Climbdown 5/1
Consolation Hug 3/2
Slowdance odds on favourite
You approach the man most like a blowfish
and put twenty years on
Atheist Cake,
because you saw him weeing.
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