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.


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.