sunday

an unwanted cadence

beats on the roof of the car

salty and cold

brought in on the off-shore breeze

as the stale windscreen wipers awaken

screeching

like a pair of dying mutton-birds being pulled across the glass

the sugarcane burning on one side

and the river swelling on the other

acidic grey ash mixes with rain—

fallout across the paint work,

a collaboration that will finally eat

its way through

ahead thick savannah forests of sleep

block the voices of hundreds of thousands of spawn

—silver counterparts at my watery flank

blinded by the wider blue

and just like a lot of us,

some of them must ponder

the freedom

to float in one spot

on a lonely Sunday afternoon

immune from any stagnation