Come Sunday
By ralph
- 572 reads
Whilst you
scrubbed
your kitchen
on Sunday morning
Methamphetamine
an old woman
knocked at your
door.
She’d moved
here yesterday
and had made
you a pie
of apple and
blackberry.
To say hello.
To calm from
loneliness and fear.
But you
missed her.
Your powerful
Headphones played
‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’
by the Stones.
Your crystal
pipe and oblivion
left her walking
back to her family film.
Her brother was a Nazi.
A gas man at Belsen.
His final breath now taken
to her last interrogation.
With a knife.
And all this happened,
the night
before she moved
her belongings
to your street.
In the dappled,
July sunshine life.
She’ll try again tomorrow.
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