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Banks Aren't Open on Sundays

Jan 13, 2010, 2:31 AM 1

Brand new poem I just wrote yesterday. That's my third for 2010 :)

Banks Aren't Open on Sundays

with a blank slate
and a briefcase of
Monopoly banknotes,
he circumnavigates
the lamppost,
laps the red fire hydrant
and in his haste, almost
a soft silky cloth linen dress
discarded in the gutter
folded on one side of the
footpath but he steadies himself
with daiquiri-sipping gravitas,
commands the open space
with his presence
and continues around the corner
where a upturned semitrailer
is ablaze and the sight almost
causes a fleeing pedestrian
to bundle him over
but courtesy of a swift sidestep
and a sprint
he's past the carnage and
back on track,
just down the narrow alleyway
by the two chairs of his
favourite Vietnamese eatery
through an attempted mugging -
two balaclava-clad figures wrestling
a Gucci handbag - and into the main
street on which his brisk walk
takes him through the cornucopia
of energetic vitality so typical of
modern suburbia, and at last, with
thirteen seconds to spare, he has
arrived at his car, its windscreen smashed,
and its sides strewn in kaledoscopic graffiti.

So much for free parking.

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