I hovered lonely as a drone
That floats on high o’er council slum,
When all at once I saw a lone
Drug-dealer plus attendant scum;
Along the Lane near Tottenham’s stands,
Ten thousand pound’s worth changing hands.

The waves of fans beside them dragged
Enshrouded in their coloured scarves:
A hoodie could not be face-tagged
Among such crowds on heaving paths:
I scanned – and scanned – but little saw
The details of their hidden score:

For oft when I am in the clouds
My GPS in relay mode,
And gyroscopes a-spinning loud
While I a new target download,
Find mere surveillance hard to bear:
I want to kick some arse down there!

Dave Weaver was a late developer as a writer. In the last four years he has had three novels published by speculative fiction publishers Elsewhere Press and his fourth, a psychological drama called ‘The Unseen’, is due out this summer. He has self-published two collections of short stories in Kindle format and has had work published online and in various anthologies including two pieces in the upcoming Rattle Tales 4 anthology.

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