kind of like clapping

i walked your street, it was morning

like a public holiday

daylight’s fingers

messing with my inner winter.

i could feel the flower bed, fox’s house,

the place where santa was. ‘we know you,’

they say, turning like little doors.

the hill under the house is tall

the wind rattles its joints. outspoken leaves

litter the yard, still scattered

with past conversation.

the cupid angel sits and waits, the numbers

tumble round // waiting for an answer.

as if i didn’t know --

in the dehydrated first gasp

of post-wine morning

i forgot, i think, to pretend.

heavy in their sockets and tired

of their duty. i'd laugh off the worry

if it wasn't stuck like mould.

in the office she took my card

avoided my smile, sent me back

to my seat where i sat and remembered --

the time we were running

(for the train? not sure) my shoes

broken and anyway. 

i've been here before, the letterbox knows --

my brain, a soft pool of uncertainty.

quiet street, the cars have turned away

and the dogs all lie fence bound.

cloud break makes tanbark look warm,

but i know that it’s not.

i skipped the puddles, her scattered talk

on things, i mean, everything--

thought you’d left

turned to window

saw nothing but cloud

i think.