my backpack sits slumped over
from where it was thrown –
coming in from going out –
gathering dust –
and when lockdown was announced
there the backpack remained –
the shoes piled around it,
like loose stones around a rock –
the contents of time suspended –
loose mints, and receipts –
a water bottle, and pens separated
from their lids –
pads and wipes –
lip balm –
a notebook –
and until i remembered
to throw it in the bin –
some days later into lockdown –
a half-eaten lunch –
i didn’t dare to peel back the foil it was wrapped in.
Kate ©
Make a one-time donation
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is appreciated.
DonateWho Are They?
the flat next door – at number 18 –
has been empty for some time
and we had given up thinking that anybody was going to move in –
until they arrived –
in a small blue car – a pair of dice dangling in the windscreen
with two garden chairs they pulled from the back seats
which they left on the patio
and then their belongings in binbags
which they piled onto the grass
until the car boot was empty –
we use the curtain for cover – through the window
trying to get a glimpse –
are they young – a couple – married –
do they play music at a loud volume at Midnight?
we’ll have to see.
Kate (C)
