“middle of the night”
A streetlight flickers
in a colour
the city didn’t approve
—a kind of bruised yellow
that makes every parked car
look like it listlessly sat
I’m out here again,
not for meaning,
but because the hallway at home
keeps ruminating in a way
I can’t match.
A receipt in my pocket
morphs into new shapes
each time remembering
—purchases that haven’t
yet been made
.
Someone’s radio coughs
from a balcony above,
a half‑song,
an almost recognised code
from a version of me
that leaned into wind
before urgency was known.
The dark isn’t vast tonight.
It’s narrow shadow,
like a monument between
sky pale sky and
poop strewn ground
. forgotten
I keep walking anyway,
letting pavement guide
soles’ direction,
until a door —
not mine —
clicks open somewhere behind me.
Was there an invitation?
or belated warning?
Ears prick,
testing the night
to hear who answers.
.
