Tuesday, 10 May 2016

Tib Txen Eht.

Galicia


Draw half the curtains - the street light is annoying, the breaking dawn will be a pleasure.
Bed.
Pyjamas.
Stairs.
Goodnight.
Eat, drink, drink eat.
Rioja or San Miguel?
Rhubarb and ginger cheesecake.
From the freezer.
From the allotment?
New potatoes: and green peas.
Chicken.
Food and wine.
The park. Full of people, they think it’s summer.
It closed at 5.
Sainsbury’s.
Overground.
Underground.
The bridge; the canal.
The house.
Goitta watch the match, bye.’
‘Do you need any help?”
Diana.
Coffee.
Bagels.
Fruit Salad.
Goodbyes; a few tears, a new day dawning.
‘Nice shorts’.
‘Thankyou’.
‘Nice shirt.’
The house.
An echo? A mimic.
‘Jo!’
‘Jo!’
Bagels.
Fruit.
‘Harry!’
No.
Maybe that middle-aged person who is, frankly waddling?
There must be someone here I can run faster than.
The other park.
Runners, boxers, Yoga-ists, stretchers, cricket players, stationary cyclists.
If I could live somewhere it would be on this street; I never will.
Streets.
Step.
House, open window, Sunday morning breeze, a cat.
Write.
Table.

Wake.

int/36

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