Monday, November 4, 2013

4 O Clock


The blinds, eyelids
Closed against
Afternoon heat

The fan hums
In monotony
Amusing itself

A mechanical dog
Chasing it tail
Swishing, slow and rhythmic

The parrots
In the palm tree
Try to be neighbourly

Grown tired of
Screeching
At each other

The rose,
Its stem
Stands in water

Quenching its thirst
To no avail, drinking
And dying at one

Was supposed to rain
But the sun
Didn’t approve

The clouds, full of promise
Were disappointed
They were ignored

It’s 4 o clock
Not that it matters
It just is

Soon it will be
5 o clock
That won’t matter either


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