Esplanade Rd 7.00 am
 
 

Barefoot on the marble of my mind
I awaken to muffled waves of distant traffic
Birds singing Saturday requests
Under rainy skies that precipitate lightly
Angry winds lash embroiled tree trunks above fallen leaves
My wooden windows shudder now-nervous frames
Quietly below, somewhere, an engine grinds forth
Threading louder past bungalows and frosty villas
Gazing upwards I hear the neighbours engaged 
in a game of concrete tickle
Embraced life in warm dry space 
laughing at a cold city
These sounds always scratch the stomach
Of my pre-breakfast mind.

 
 

(C) Copyright 2000
Gregory Brimblecombe
All Rights Reserved