It’s here when the day is yet to wake up
when you’re patting your hair down with cold
tea from yesterday from a cracked cup
you bought in a Chelsea flea market,
yes it’s here and you feel the world turning
about you and you turn about face because
the mirror is the one thing that haunts you,
The light breaks the silence so quickly
coffee is the taste of an afterthought,
These things pass but the sirens continue
as the streets come to life without you
and you wonder and I wonder
are we really here at all.
© 2020, John Smallshaw.