One morning, I will surprise you.
One morning, while you sleep,
I will shrug off another hangover
slip back into yesterday’s clothes,
take pains on tip-toe not to wake you
and let myself out with only
the lightest click of the latch.
One morning, the sun will gild
the clouds’ underbelly
while first early workers sling
files on the backseats of cars.
One morning, I will thread
my way through spent cans,
recycling bins, lost tickets,
ripped-out circuit boards
and trespass over walls
with the neighbourhood cats.
One morning, there will be
no news whatsoever
and the radio will hum
with a negligible silence
while the gift I return with
will have got there
I don’t know how.
One morning, you will see
a day’s weather prospects
in changed light patterns
and we will relent
our differences one morning
in the cut smell of flowers
