Sunday 17th April



Breakfast runner fresh from the street with obligatory wires.
Sits down next to me, the porridge, tea & poetry. Fat bottled
water slapped on the table. A badge of office, a certificate
a sign, a casual flag in the crown of Everest. Dazed fish,
looks around, surfing tables for a seat. Upturned bottles hang
from ceilings filled with light. Benevolent glow from above as
fingers dance, transmitting messages of love. Satiated sunlight
bouncing off grand facades. Brew time four minutes. Plant-life,
solo, pastel green. Wrapped in glass to greet us. Honey spilled,
radio screamed, the sugar crowd served with ice batons pile plates
with egg & grease. Strawberry escapologist. Shiny worlds float
down corridors of burnished wood. Story faces fish around in bins,
wiping sweat on sleeves behind barricades of plastic grass.
A message arrives unexpected. A thrill for a second, unwanted,
then, as quick, discarded.


3 thoughts on “Sunday 17th April

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