100 Words #01

Leaves fall pooling the pavement in an unbroken yellow flood

Leaves fall pooling the pavement in an unbroken yellow flood.

Squatting on the kerb, under a transparent umbrella, gutter paddling,

you count cars, pounding past. Fifty before you can stand.

Door handles, eye level, wing mirrors strobe welding spark flashes.

There are chickens running wild through this city: eggshells everywhere.

Fifty-one. You stand, walk past the phonebox as it sings.

Inside, blu-tacked card plastered, a half-full bottle of wine, red.

Only a phonebox smells like a phonebox does. You exhale,

phone pressed to the ear, hearing yourself answering the call.

Softly. Inside this space, a drizzle of yellow leaves descends.

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