The intruders looked down from downstairs
Casually as if nothing was wrong
The sirens began to wail
But they didn't budge
I called them down
and the police arrived
They were stacked awkwardly
With a vagrant in the back
I waved them off
As they stared through the tinted windows
One of them raising his fist to extend the middle finger
The cruiser launched forward bumping their heads together
She kicks out in yoga
In an exclusive room.
Windowed sliding door
She got a ride with the tandem car
In the backseat with me
Her studio was private
Her posture was her charm
She never really invited anyone in
The odd passerby would gawk
Not I
I said
Transfixed
Dog head dog head scream
Grab, howl OHHH bite bite grim wound
Rip bark rip bleeding
Howl drop to knees arm soaked
Bitemarks release pink indentations
And draw more blood still
The Dog head is growling
It jerks the neck and sinks in
It came bearing down
The feeling of dread
The inescapable feeling
That there was no exit
I turned and hugged the shade
No point it comes inevitably
Rolling over the street
A car being pushed along
The Sound of gravel crushing under tyre
I'd like to be passed by unrecognized
But I feel observed
I attempt to cast a decoy
but I have no time or privacy
So it sees what I am and wants it
Pretending it has a destination
There's no destination just a clock
And a mouth
The mother let the daughter run to the front of the room.
She stuck her hands through the vacant desk to the mouse and computer.
Pulling cords and making sound effects as she did so.
Giggling turning and beaming a troublemakers grin.
The mother's exhausted face appealing to the girl, until the mother had to get out of the seat and pull her away from the desk. The girl shrieked unfazed by the mother's reprimand. She would go onto pull and push things around in the public office as the mother unsuccessfully attempted to solve her pending documentational crisis.
But appearances matter. It seems all you need today to own the world is a stamp and a signature.
The tax office was dark.
There were two couples in the line seated and anxious.
I sat down after them. I read their anxieties. Their rehearsed outrage or contempt.
The floor was marked by a million shoe prints.
We are just the next scratches...
Just the next stamps and signatures.
The tested patience. The next raised brows.
I had locked my bike onto the handrail. I left it as I went to the collections office to pay two months owing.
A couple was aguing infront of the whole room. Their abrasive loud voices full of thick indignation.
The years had taken their toll on the walls and ceilings.
I wondered how so many angry voices had radiated through the space.
And yet it was beautiful, not ugly, not marred. Even the imperfections filled me with joy.
Because for the first time in my life I wasn't in a rush.
On that journey
Along the way abundance
Modesty
On that path
Climbing up
Bringing good things in
There is a flavor
A direction
Dig into the morning
smooth over the blue
on the journey
of today
