by Fergus Hancock
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Another day of work, of triedness, of too little time; or can it be more?
She rises at cracked, cold dawn,
Scratchy eyes, frizzed hair, dry mouth
Resist her will, drag her down
To bed again – but she must
Push, and drag the sheets aside
To begin it all today.
She walks, huddled, down dusty streets,
Wind tugs her hair, taste of cars
And trash assault her senses,
Feet trip on cracks and she stares
At street sign glow – Don’t Walk!
It’s yet another day.
Café smells and coffee tang,
Croissant fragments ease the pain
Of too long days, aching feet,
Boss’ leer and telephone calls,
Post-it notes and Rigmarole,
All too much for one day.
One bite left! Then she must sigh,
And gulp her drink too quickly -
Frown at cars, at dirt, at crowds
And wish she were far away.
If she could shut her eyes,
To close off life for one day.
Brushed off crumbs and table rings,
Stirred traced trails in coffee grounds
Tell tales; slight smile at thoughts
Of childhood’s wonders, grandma’s
Sleight of hand and woodman’s tales,
Dreams long gone, lost playing days.
Now, though, she must stir, and rush
To pay her dues. Thread through cars,
Blink and sigh, brush out blown dust,
See tears blur the sky and ground,
Shake her head, then force a smile,
And make the best of the day.