in a town I used to live the streets swarm: a procession of masks and torches singing and shouting at the looming winter. I catch the train to work as they gather round towers of timber. an arrow lights the flame that rolls into a scream that washes out the stars. the fires reach higher than any assemblage brick and love I’ve called home. the people stand speechless at the death of darkness and I was one of them once.
outside the station a man sits on the bench feeding pigeons and a seagull. they don’t know where he came from and it couldn’t matter less. at my desk I track the destruction of one country and the election of another with more care than I can muster for my frustration. as the figures roll in I think of what I’ve learnt to remember they’ll keep dropping bombs no matter who holds the cards. emails carry thinly veiled frustration between parties unwilling to acknowledge the work means nothing beyond business hours. the team receives good news about more money for more projects. we congratulate each other and I do my best to mask my fatigue with the expectation to always want to jump for more.
on the way home I lean on the window with the weight of where I’ve been. I listen to strangers talk about the weather and what they’ll do tomorrow. they can’t wait to wake up and do it all again.
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