A wasp’s circular movement on the leather.
Rotating with the clicks and clacks of gambling,
Only to swing with doubt into the New Year.
A look of anger and frustration,
Then the camera is turned off.
A sour mood is left lingering in Woolworths.
“If I catch you filming again, I’ll kick you out!”
I laugh, “But why?”
“Because that’s the rules” says a scarred black face,
Retiring into the mass of jobless shop workers.
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