Thursday 23 February 2012

SUN

suddenly
its not cold anymore.

the sky is a stretch of soft brushed blue.

my street is like a picture out a storybook-
young mother walking bouncing children home
her
arms
full with padded parkas and colourful flasks-
the white haired widow outside her ochre house on the corner
washing her hyundai hatchback-
neighbour opposite rolls out her bins/her arm not in plaster anymore.

they have all taken in my bulky mail and amazon packages for me.

but!

i see an apocalyspe/its like this is a memory of the before-times
and
now
all the dust is dust . . . 

wait!

i dial it down-

like a picture in an estate agents pamphlet/the apocalypse
only
his
commission.

i go inside and the big eyed cat happily shows me
where
he dragged
a tea towel over his curled turds.

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