before I wake we're hiding from the rain under an awning on the doorstep of a hotel. we came here to listen to an author once. your dad is with us incognito (without his guitar) and I can't tell if we're kids again but we're waiting for a poetry reading from our favourite of his bandmates. Murray Street runs a river against traffic shooting for the green light out of town. across the road your brother emerges from the arch of the cathedral by the financial planners. he waves and manages to reach us dry.
the sky cries louder. your father yawns and leaves to take a smoke. in his absence your brother bets you can't beat him down to Collins and back. I hold your coat and watch you run into the rain. he's bigger and faster and I want you to win.
No comments:
Post a Comment