Tuesday, 11 June 2019

Not the same one. (bird)


There’s a bird singing.

A plane passing.

The table is rattling as i pour a little more wine in the glass.

A child is singing, a few doors down.

A car passes.

I drink some of the wine.

It’s red, it’s from the Corbieres.

Another car passes.

A motor bike too.

Someone scrapes a chair across the floor in the apartment next door.

And now the child is crying.


The table just rattles, another motor bike passes.

And i type.

And i sigh.

I have drunk too much of this wine.

And then suddenly, it’s quiet.

Just the snap of the galss as i slam it onto the empty table.

NOT  formerly published in The Archives.

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