Rhyming with scarlet lips of a prostitute
(A poppy of the pavement), through blue nets
Of petrol fumes you thrust and shove your route,

Singing an aria whose shriek offsets
The soft sonata of the traffic's bawl;
A counterpoint pulsating pirouettes

And splashes on the steepness of a wall
— A sea of noise for mainstreet to remark:
Afar, a trickle hardly heard at all.

A dog pursues a bitch with loving bark;
Frothing in youth, a canine man, frenetic,
Pursues a lady in the shady park.

A florin like a moon hangs, pale ascetic,
Over the city, furnace all alone;
The sky makes up, a dead sun for cosmetic.

Towards the sleepy‑blinking tramcar's zone
A naiad runs through streetlamp's slanting light;
The distant taxis make a mournful moan.

Under the glowing neon, out of night,
A line of crimson ghosts flows into sight.

(Trans W. Auld)