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
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