The Year Pt. II

So fast forward three months
see me sprawled,
alone
clothes in piles like grubby religious offerings

The harsh grey morning
heaving its way in
past ten o’clock

My mouth open,
bottle and glass
still sitting on the side
9 hours later

Crumpled receipts and coins
one boot still on foot
noone else in the room, or the house

The faint smell of burnt hair
when I reached to open the window, late
forgetting the candle was lit

When with a rude shock,
the bouquet of dying flowers
lost its balance
fell hard and loud from table to floor

1am Petal scraps
slowly becoming dust
in the stale days that follow

Yet I’m still asleep
hair over face
frowning in my mottled dreams

Whilst a beer bottle downstairs
dribbles the last of its contents
and rolls under the sofa

Speaking of minutiae

I’m such a curious creature today, amused and delighted by the world around.

A man and his lady friend strolled past the café I am sitting in and the man was making a silly, high-pitched ‘brr, brr!’ sound, accompanied by chuckles from his lady friend. Although it resides in their own private domain within the space of the public, I couldn’t help but take part, by chuckling too – separated, safe, by a glass wall.

They noticed, eye contact was held, and smiles arose on faces. If it weren’t for the glass it would seem intrusive, uncomfortable – too close.

But it was fine, and I think they must have delighted in that fleeting, shared experience just as I did.