|
|
Judith TaylorPoems |
|
The copyright in all material appearing on this website remains with the authors. No part of this website may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners. |
Early Start
Judith Taylor
The Terrace is all but empty.
There's only me and a bus,
heading opposite ways
and the electronic bus-stops
that have been on duty all night
are bloodshot, getting a little strange by now:
Real Time, they tell me,
Currently Unavailable
Due to System Update. 6.03.
My eyes are pulsing
red, in sympathy.
From here on in there are shop displays,
ferociously lit and idle, all the way:
behind me, whole
blocks with maybe a single window,
maybe two, awake
as people get ready
quietly, for work; for sleep
at the end of their shift.
Or stare at the knowledge
sleep won't come for them now,
and the day begins already
bloodshot, raw; while above the roof a shiny planet
does the work of a star.
