I try to cross the road
and I can hear at least two sirens behind me,
a muffled argument in the distance and what
sounds like a window cracking around the corner.
The cartilage in my hip is grinding
like the table leg sized pepper
in the restaurant to my left
with too many different coloured lights.
I can see a puddle swallowing
the reflection of a miserable pigeon
and a bus driver is texting at a red light
while an estate agent is holding a phone
between his ear and shoulder at his desk,
flicking through paperwork with one hand
and tapping his laptop with one finger on the other.
Someone in a pub laughs and a cat licks its paw
and the wind is sideways and the moon blinks
and an old lady forgets me forever.

© Carl Burkitt 2020