dawn ©papa osmubal

dawn ©papa osmubal


dave hill

This morning we could see the sunlight
Spot-light one section of the ocean
Elsewhere the sea was opaque in the thick of a grudging dawn
No one else could see what we were seeing
No one was even bothering to look
And then the sun slipped away
Leaving a dark unwilling daylight that refused to   even bother dividing the land from the water

In the streets, an old fellow spits without regard to who might be walking by,
He lights firecrackers a meter from your ear and tosses his cigarette packet in your path
Scraping his shoes and his throat, he  blocks the gum-stained sidewalk with his cracked plastic scooter and spews its exhaust fumes in your face.

None of this should happen, yet it’s all that ever does, and he’ll tell you himself “I’m scaring off ghosts.”
“Nothing at all should happen; these are my ways of slowing it down.”

Not even this dreary, tattered and scuffed-up city should have happened,

Temples selling paper cars for ancestors, casinos taking plastic bets on souls


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