Anticipating / Morning

And why is it you’re so fretful anyway ? Now you’re alone again- time always feeling like there’s not enough of it- thoughts rearing as you flail for the bridle, like a thousand kazakh horses -oh to roam across the empty steppe enevenly-

And how quickly the door closes, she closes it- Alone now as in the next room she rests and we’ve plans to go out again and plans are flimsy things a breeze could scatter, a breeze could make me cry when it gets like this and how silly to be scared of what’s bound to happen anyway, it’s very much like death-

This constant ebb and flow, this ennvervation- it really drives you off the road careening through the fields, but mark my words she’ll have closed up shop and that’ll be the last you see of her today-

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But there was sun this morning, and it was moving to watch the people moving through it, from the terrace of the cafe- surreptitiously sipping tea we’d brought in thermos cups- it cooled between our hands and vapour rising brushed our cheeks good morning.

Local or not ? She asked me as a woman in a trench coat with a tote bag slung around her shoulder passed us by

Local I said 

How do you know ?

Knowingly I said nothing 

How about this one, local or not ? 

And uncertainly the bicycle set course to circumvent the lorry, as out the back a squared jaw man with histrionic eyes lowered a palette stacked with cardboard boxes securely wrapped in cellophane-

Good morning sun, good morning scattered thoughts, good morning funny rat shaped dog busily smelling out the lampost, good morning to all the worries people carry with them humming through the air-