Tuesday: 3.36pm

The green tea sits perfectly still

in waters grave

like the discipline of a coffin

it sleeps dreamless.

I hear the neighbour next door

running the blades of his mower

over a receding patch of grass,

raising the smell of autumn

to my loose window,

lending me an open clock

that delivers him Sunday long walks with a wife

gone.

 

School closes its books

kids trample the pavements

with laughter and sweet wrappers -

old ladies look for walls

sharp men in suits pin phones to their ears

buses screech

horns bleat.

 

A dog barks at the sunlight

 

A cloud appears lost in the sky

 

The evening takes over

as autumn makes new stars

that decorate the smile of loneliness

 

Everything is lost

eventually.