more stories

an old story.

6.47am. Morning paper.
The antepenultimate page.
My kitchen, red walls, oily touch.
Crossword puzzle.
Machine making coffee.
“Voice, so to speak,” 5 down.
Smell of coffee, sudden whiff of.
Tiled floor, chilly.
Arching my feet, minimum exposure.
Seven minutes to shut door.
“Sign of wisdom,” 17 across.
No voice, no sign.
Page crumpled up.
No one speaks, no wisdom here.
Neighbour’s coughing bad in hallway,
the one that blocked the chute
last Wednesday. Most probably.
Run out of sugar—that’s okay.
Shards of dishwasher-safe china
dripping with hot coffee,
steaming foam on my
boiling bloodied hand.

robert

Enthusiastic photographer. Loves stories too.