We only scratched at the surface where the mirror broke through water, watching distorted reflections as they cavorted with memories,

Life drowns us in the luxury of not thinking we’re dying.

And here we are drinking a beer at some bar and wondering what we do now.

It’s going home time on
the Central line
a smell of excitement and
sweat in the air and she’s
the lady in black
the one with the Grecian look,

It makes no difference to
the circumference of the
circle I am in nor does it
alter my circumstances
even when she glances
my way
my day carries on

© 2019, John Smallshaw.