It must have been a Tuesday
Since the bins outside the Browns’ house
Were stacked unsteadily,
Much like the snowman
Their children had erected
In the heavy snow last Christmas.
The twins at Number 22 sat
Eating their packed lunches before school
From the comfort of car seats,
Feet dangling in defiance.
One smiled a grin of bread and butter
And, as ever, the other scowled.
Even Irene, now pushing seventy,
Could still make him out
As he ambled past her roses.
She craned her neck, squinted
And extended the watering can
By way of salute.
And the man serving his tall, flat white
Looked no more tired than usual.
The cleaner hadn’t changed.
The builders at the back laughed again.
Routine is routine is routine
He repeated but-
Was cut short by the sight of a man
Of his height, weight, gait
Staring back from the café window
With a look of bewilderment.
Watching the face, he gave an awkward wave
As though this was someone he recognised
But couldn’t quite place.
Since the bins outside the Browns’ house
Were stacked unsteadily,
Much like the snowman
Their children had erected
In the heavy snow last Christmas.
The twins at Number 22 sat
Eating their packed lunches before school
From the comfort of car seats,
Feet dangling in defiance.
One smiled a grin of bread and butter
And, as ever, the other scowled.
Even Irene, now pushing seventy,
Could still make him out
As he ambled past her roses.
She craned her neck, squinted
And extended the watering can
By way of salute.
And the man serving his tall, flat white
Looked no more tired than usual.
The cleaner hadn’t changed.
The builders at the back laughed again.
Routine is routine is routine
He repeated but-
Was cut short by the sight of a man
Of his height, weight, gait
Staring back from the café window
With a look of bewilderment.
Watching the face, he gave an awkward wave
As though this was someone he recognised
But couldn’t quite place.
