We only whisper truth inside the cacophony;
& the wind takes these quiet revelations. The angel
haired woman, sitting in the dawn-grubby café,
catches a snippet of it, but flicks her hand
against the buzz; she takes a sip of the instant
coffee bleached with UHT milk, settles back
into the ignorance of the gossip pages
& the stench of relentless fry-ups. The noon
man creaks as he passes the Town Centre sign,
straightens a moment, cocks his head, bird-like,
then re-cocoons his walking stick; he grumbles
to retrieve a bottle of cider he’ll struggle to carry,
then sup in the silence of a damp flat.
At twilight, twins crossing the road, think
the other has spoken; confuse themselves
in identical expressions of what did you say?
realise that neither had listened anyway.
A text message, five seconds apart, tells them
who’s favourite & that they’re both late for tea.
The salt & peppered witness wrapped warm
in wrinkles; she hears it all, smiling, perched
on the edge of parked iron. She knows flesh
& mortality are as fragile as lies in moonlight.
If you have any comments on this poem, Sonia
Hendy-Isaac would be pleased to hear from you.