It’s dawn.
The clock flashes four.
The morning exhales an icy yawn
A bird opens its beak once more
And screeches.
It then coughs,
Splutters and
Makes this odd little noise
Of a car door slamming
And the grating sound
Of metal on kurb.
A pop,
A croak,
A cat’s yowl,
A fire alarm
Fused with a guitar rift.
Silence.
It begins to rain.
Soft whispers upon glass.
A whistling whip
Like a cracking bamboo cane
Swiftly followed by two piercing quips
And the racket begins again.