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15/3/20

APRIL TWENTY-FOURTH

we all turned the corner and got into the car,
the lock on the left side had long been damaged by frost
so i held it shut closely as we swerved
around corners and empty intersections
at just a hair under the speed limit.

somebody had this or that errand to run,
and so we stood outside the post office
and watched as the sky gradually changed colour,
slowly melting between greys and blues,
and listened to the birds call for their friends
from above the buzzing lights
inside the post office. they finally emerged
and remarked at how hard the concrete suddenly felt
after waiting on the spotted brown carpet
for almost an hour,
or at least what felt like almost an hour.

we hoisted the box into the boot
and tried not to hear it slide and crack
as the driver suddenly started and stopped,
because the radio was on.
we pulled into the car park on the dark street
next to the restaurant, narrowly missing the wall
and in the light of the main street, a man stood
leaning against the old bricks
in a deep red suit and polished shoes.
‘this bloody guy again’, we muttered
as we walked around the corner
and tried not to make eye contact with him.

squinting through the sun,
we reached the restaurant, at last,
and we slid into a booth and ordered four cheeseburgers,
one with pickles, one with onions,
and a plate of sweet potato fries.

and ‘we forgot the damn sodas’, we realised, out loud,
and so began to glare and point
at whoever we felt was most deserving
of being made to go and ask for the sodas.
‘i did it last time!’ i said, safely sinking further
into the peeling foam seat.
but not everyone was safe.

we stacked up the plates and the glasses
and left the napkins on top,
drenched in ketchup.
‘damn good burgers’, someone said.
‘damn good burgers’.

we saw the man on the corner had gone
by the time we left the restaurant.
it was colder now, the wind had picked up
but the sun still beamed down the winding street, ever-present.
we took off again, meandering down the quiet streets
but the radio had stopped working,
unless you consider a car insurance advert
doomed to loop indefinitely to be music.

we were at the post office again, this time
it was for me. i looked around me and grimaced;
fifteen people who had no intention of being here,
standing, staring, gradually wearing down
into the brown carpet, seeping with something or other.
the birds had left for the winter
and the sky gradually turned darker
and the light still hadn’t been fixed,
and all that i could do was stand and stare.

we were driving through the woods,
the morning sun making the dirt on the windows
shine like raindrops, and someone said
‘what happened to that box we picked up?’
and we didn’t speak for a moment
and then someone else muttered under their breath,
‘shit’.

we stood on the street corner
and tried to think of something to do.
the day had been long, and
the bowling alley was closed,
and although none of us really liked bowling
it was still disappointing.

a man in a red suit approached us on the corner
and turned into a side-street, his dark shoes
glittering in the half-shade.
there was a voice from across the road,
it called to us and someone agreed,
but i couldn’t make out the words.
and far above us, the sun
lay on the crest of the hills,
far over the rooftops, waiting.