SOUNDCHECK IN THE PIPES:
At 2am last night the tiny drummer soundchecked his kick drum,
generating clouds of words like dust beat out of old rugs
hung on washing lines. They seethed & howled, half remembered
recollections, fears & hollow promises, tightened a rope around
my chest, pulling, whipping, spinning me like a top.
‘Thud…rest, Thud…rest, Thud…rest,Thud…rest, Thud’,
the kickdrum beat monotonous until 5am, when the central heating
timer kicked in, flushing the demon out the pipes, underscored
by the hiss hiss of pre-dawn rubber pushing lights along the road.