at home

down among the broken souls I used to be a king but having had my moment in the joyless sunlight dwindling some midweek afternoon in November among the flapping garbage I returned unremarked upon to the streets, shoeless and murmuring and staring for reason in the windows of the shops there. I couldn’t go home. There was a home – a place I lived with a kind of a bed and a kitchen with no food in it, the dog ends like drowned flies in the stained tin sink, a toilet cavelike with limescale, a few books – but home was where they knew where to find me. The  crowds, the bells, the looming church, the judgement beyond the mouldering viel, waiting for me, at home.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.