A household wakes late.
We're silent movie stars
Moving at comic pace.
Bags are grabbed, dropped, swapped!
Ties are lost, lost, found!
Toast in transit. Crumbs.
"No crumbs in the car!"
Then.
The silence of the scrammed.
Now where's that car vac?
@IMcMillan
I wake late. My dog's already at the back door. He gives me a "where you been!!?" look. I apologise to an animal who relies on me for everything. I let him out. He digs in a corner of the garden, then proceeds to treads mud into the hall carpet on his return.
He holds a grudge.
The edges of morning are draw and quickly fill with colour. Brick gables blush with the first touch from a courting sun. Frost-tipped grass dares to wear diamonds. Smoke is charmed from a chimney. It fades as it reaches for a clear sky, but not before it becomes its only cloud.
Two men in the corner shop, hunched over a scratch-card, itching for good luck. The news stand is weary with war. Margarine is on offer. I can't believe it's not butter. Store-own Cola stands between Pepsi and Coke, like a metaphor for the world. I can't believe it's not better.
I fell out with the Morning
So I hung out with the Night
But without any warning
Found I had lost the light
I tried to use a candle
I tried to light a way
But Night it couldn't handle
Reminders of the Day
Both Times were most inopportune
So now I hang with Afternoon.
Rain falls. Times Tipp-Ex. C̶o̶r̶r̶e̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶, altering, reality. It will take a million downpours or more for the garish stone lions to erode from the garden of the posh house down the road (they take pride of place). But only the rain's allowed to roar, King of this urban jungle.
Quick trip to hospital to return equipment. Consultants caring for coffee. Builders in boots tread shiny floors. I share a lift with an old man in a gown and his porter, who's wheeling him from Here to There. I look away, partly out of respect, and partly out of a fear of There.
Catch the last dance of slow petals unfurling
Watch the first dance of those petals start curling
Know that the gift of each breath of each flower
Is wrapped and unwrapped over twenty four hours.
My old lawn is full of twigs
Blown in from trees unseen
My old lawn is full of twigs
And next door's trampoline.
Screams from the wind merge with those in the playground to become an infinite scream. It's more Monster Munch than Edvard Munch, as Monday Morning finds these kids loading up on starch and fizz. Untethered hair flies in all directions, a million kites flying and turning and fighting in the (h)air. Everyone looks like they're in a bad 1980's music video. The smoking, vaping, wheezy kids, provide the dry ice and the faux cool. I turn the car around and think of dancing in the street.
A terrible music video.
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