Drug Raid in Macclesfield
After dark that evening we saw the flashing lights
of some black police riot squad van
which shot to the crossing by the pub
where the doors flew open and
black helmeted policemen burst out of the back
and around the corner to the lane.
The pair watched the lights over the low ledge
as they sat like a matching set, white with
black patches in different places side by side
ears pricked two black tails leading out behind them
like comet streak negatives on the bedroom carpet
looking straight ahead as if they were
eyeballing a magpie on a branch.
Maybe it was the lights that they liked
because otherwise the view was the same,
the pavement and the sign for the pub
hanging off an iron bar from the stone wall,
the sign which sometimes swung on its hooks
when the Peak District gusts escaped their territory
and crashed the town.
Then the van pulled away and was gone
and the cats went back to touching
stretched out paws, laying in front of the electric fire
on the alpaca rug and I went back to watching
Grey’s Anatomy, a season behind.