a tall empty form...
Something that started as a sort of ‘mock poem’ but I thought I’d turn it into a slightly less mock-poem…Based on a little moment five years ago:
Good Friday, 2009
I’ll straighten my tie, press the shaking red icon to hang up, glide a straight line towards the light coming through the door.
It will knock twice only – slowly, precisely.
A back-lit cut-out, a tall empty form: “Do you want any fish?” he’ll enquire.
“I’m sorry,” I’ll reply, “this is not my house”.
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