In a Rent Week

He lifted his head to blue,
parting reeds like curtains,
puzzled at tumbling clouds,
squinting like money due,
like ghosts through walls,
in a rent week, past plodding,
he said, "Anger is possible."

Night came hiding its danger,
mists praying over roads,
swiftly, no thought for day,
wisping past buildings at speed,
puzzled at falling stars,
past bending, in a rent week,
"At last, at last, anger."