194. street cars and cereal

you have gone to bed, yet I –

Bohemian, self-employed, non-essential

munch on Raisin Bran much too

late for a midnight snack, too early

for breakfast:

 

Winston Churchill’s high school

gazes back, orange LED blinking at

the late-night drivers criss-crossing

On the dwindling asphalt strips

 

Shopper’s is long abandoned, no longer

open 24 hours; so is

the Community Centre, though I

recall our first summer you let me

ride your new e-bike –

ever-klutzy, I had bumps and bruises

from start-and-stop turns that

were not so successful

though you –

drove home from the bike store

on your first

try –

 

early in the summer we once crossed

through the park behind, stuffed full

from a buffet back

when you had plenty leftover before

paying rent

alone

 

teenagers no longer

circle round the crescent

of the schoolyard nor do

yellow buses line in a row of

metallic rectangle ducks

 

hard crunch and soft

mush and Vivaldi

from the living room

and the sounds of

swishing cars and

trucks on

Lawrence Ave –

 

bars of the light extinguish as I

close mosquito netting and old teal

drapes on the school

 

as Winston Churchill’s namesake watches me

join you in the bedroom,

hallway lights clicking quiet:

LEDs blink last

month’s messages, waiting for

mornings full of students that no

longer

come.

 

11 mai 2020

Scarborough, ON