Front Elevation

 

Fancy term or what?
There’s a plethora these days.
Hackneyed worn bearing.
Tossed about, misused.
Technobabble galaxy’s whose who.
The sort that “reign” on everyone’s parade!
ATM backlit, ghostly white for the visually challenged or those with suspect oculars.
Does the blue screen of death await me as I shield my buck -munching laminate from prying eyes?
Platinum Debit on display with cat’s scrawl on card holder’s text fieldl.
Sorry out of order message  is out of order.
In every sense.
Big spenders bane when contemplating major splash outs on trifles.
Report all tampered signs but where?
Decommissioned house stations topple like bowling pins.
Shady figures lurk with cratered dials,
jack the lad jokers one and all,
impish grin, aposematic cheek, a pose, a roguish  cover.
Protective colour in high flag.
Contortionists who crane their necks with comic guile.
Giraffes of gritty subways, ghoulish and graffitied.
Zooming in.
Zero in on hapless victims.
Sprint runner carting off their booty.
Scarlet pimpernel scourge, brazen hacker in  broad daylight,
sneaking dodgy heists past robot sentries.
Moonlighting maverick or Robin Hood graduate from the arch nave academy.
Vultures on the prowl with heightened sensors cast an Orwell’ shadow.
Big brother watchtes from a scam-laden fringe.
Birds of prey about to make their mark.
Mark!
Another grubby term from seedy tomes, buzzword of the underworld beloved by spooks and crooks.
Mark you!
Spy rings in every queue.
Streetwise or no.
White collar blue collar each with its  own trademark dress code.
Sartorial elegance by birth or thieving snatch.
Yo, enterprising ne’er-do-well!
Opportunity knocks.
Identity theft.
Well, there’s another modern mantra with no mute button waiting to be zapped.

 


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