Friction builds, buses stop running.
Static flows oozy
over the airwaves leaving antennas
bowed and streaked.
Time slows.
Birds are still singing somewhere up in
the trees but it sounds forced.
the waters and we, the residents, greeted
them with welcoming smiles
and fingers crossed behind our backs.
the winds of change
and we humored them, sucked a finger
hard and thrust it up in the air –
as if such winds could be
expected here, as if this world around
us could actually
somehow be set back in motion.
(Originally published in Subliminal Interiors)
