Afternoon (November)

Nine things on a hot November afternoon. Shadows of branches and leaves pattern the concrete footpaths. Out of the glare, cold water in bottles in the bakery fridge, consoling. School children sprawled all through the carriage, showing off, using ‘like’ language. White clouds below white clouds far as the blue hills. So many kinds of butterfly after weekend rain. On a trimmed nature strip a supermarket trolley upsidedown, a long way from home. Square solar panels on poles, totems staving off crisis. Streets of round faces fixed on oblong hands. Bird of paradise flowers, each turning in a different direction.

Afternoon (January)

Meanwhile, in the afternoon, light wears out glass in buildings assembled in the distances. Trains wriggle along viaducts above traffic fuming in gridlock. We’ve weaved onto suburb express: our worked-out heads lean on January windows, our thumbs play on iPhones ‘invisible marbles’. Holiday tomorrow lightens conversation. Mention of Mall killings tightens faces. Fly-by shadows of trees pattern faces. We thought someplace else is where it all happens, when here and now is where. News feeds update world resentment. Resend! Only why is everyone relaxed, going somewhere? Every kind of tree and house goes by, occasionally blocked by a cordial advertisement.