single flower (10/11/24)

a single flower
puts on a brave face,
call centres calls
at peculiar hours,
coffee’s rich,
it’s the only thing here
that is,
a wren bathes
in a shallow puddle,
somewhere
far away from here
a hollowed-out cry,
“not again, not again”,
words get lost
in arms that toss
you back into the fire,
the winds hangs
an afterthought
one might say, lifeless,
round and round
the drivers go
finding potholes
in the road,
rain came
but didn’t stay,
just long enough
to even out the grey,
cleaning windows
stocking shelves
twenty-four seven
seventh heaven,
who knows where
the foxes sleep
or even when they do,
a traffic cone
stands alone
a sentinel for those
who never made it home.

© 2024 robert greig