A Draught
The late afternoon sun falls slowly in the sky
its radiant heat so strong as to slow time
for all sad creatures sitting squinting
gazing in the distance, prying open the mind’s eye
Hearts beat at a cloud’s pace,
and sweat streams down faces slow and winding as the river Nile
A sigh. The tearing of a page. But little inspiration.
Searching desperately for diversion
I turn my gaze to the wavy distance
where scores of empty vessels are parked
lonely in a tarmac field
no inspiration there.
Two dozen unique individuals stare straight ahead
and file past silently in lines going two by two
blank expressions plastered on faces like wallpaper
no inspiration there.
Two cars, one black and one white,
pass without greetings in the baking street
and drive away out of sight, forgotten to each other forever
no inspiration.
Such is the numbing silent pain of a draught.
The world needs the rain.
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