‘Three stoplights from the epiphany’
Three stoplights from the epiphany
He is considering nothings
Secondhand swivel chair
Apples and insecticide
The yellow girl is a single stride
Horns herald her narrow escape
It is of no consequence
She is moving on
Desolate between zones
A left-behind community
Withers and warps and sells it’s parts
Dreams that die and give birth in the dark
Empty streetlights drove the swell tonight
He missed turns in snarling traffic
Awake but mostly absent
This evening’s exodus
“Oga, na originah” the hawker said
The obvious fake fell to bits
At the second use or fifth
It did not matter much
Behind the bridge oddly curved
The city reared in profile
Gap-toothed against the sky at dusk
Towers now gone where they never stood
Halogen nightlights will line the cul de sac
He will begin to decelerate soon
Quiet into the confines
Lying in glass and stone
Kadara will swing an arm to shoulder height
The greeting will be familiar and listless
It portends nothing
They won’t be here next month
Silent and merciful streets to pass
By named or numbered houses
They are to rise with the false dawn
Shells to prophesy convergence to conformity.
