THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW
You must know how it feels by now,
when all that’s left
are the bars where we drank from long, cool glasses;
when all the lazy weekend hours
that we built up into jutting totems
and soothing fetish objects
have drifted out like coiling vapours
through the cracks in life’s hinges.
Hurry, tell your children your dreams
before the days pack up and go leaving you
looking, but with eyes firmly closed;
a sundial in a darkened room
proudly interrogating the shadows.
Published in Abridged
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S.C. Flynn 