four pm and the sun was as low as the window
shining in as if uninvited glaring throughout
whether they spoke of the past or the future
it wasn't extended
silence won the afternoon
coming over the two men heavily
forcing them into their silly interpretations
of what the other had said
The kitchen a narrow short corridor
wallpaper from the sixties
musky smell of neglected herbs
a cigarette lights up and blustery cough
a quick opinionated attempt at current politics
a retort from son
A sigh and a yawn
that is the amount of those exchanges
The concerns of the old
repetetive conversions
A millenia of pointless chats
at four pm nonstop
of beard scratching
head nodding head shaking
attempts at good bye
circulating through beliefs
landing on a few agreements
insisting on uneasy disagreements
a state of eternal dialogue then silence
They sit up there luke warm coffee
caramels and cigarettes
machine like responses
the inside falls out in different moods
different tones and urgency
You have become what you thought within
to what you are without
a layer of sweat in the 4pm sun
tired to ask how work is going
work finished a millenia ago
walking stick holding him up
almost a stroll down Matenga street
His skin as red as leather
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