somewhere between sleep and sense: a sun sets on the coals of a birthday I can’t face. from the kitchen sink I watch old ghosts laugh and dance around a burning tree in the garden. I could leave the house and join them but it’s getting dark and I need an early night for school tomorrow. someone runs through the flames for fun. I wave behind the window.
in the morning on the bus I listen to boys I don’t know share excitement for retirement on the way to work. ‘the cushion is going to feel so good when I get there…’ someone’s baby screams like I might have years ago. the boys in suits keep talking til the tunnel spits us out.
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