Wednesday, 13 November 2013

The Flotsam and The Jetsam - Driftwood.

The cleaner empties the bins and sweeps the corridor.

At 5.30 am!!

Is she insane?!

Doesn’t she know I am asleep?!!

Actually I wasn’t.

Dreams of my own flesh and blood and her absence woke me, again, in the unwanted hours.

I lay looking at the mustard yellow street lights.

I listened to the bins scraping along the corridor.

And then the street.

And back.

Later I heard one lonely bird singing.

When I left I stood by the bridge and looked at the river.

It’s full, but empty of boats – there are never any boats on these waters.

But today there is driftwood, hurrying to the jumbled dam of fellows at the foot of the bridge.

Where I too find myself.

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