Next swill

The concrete apartment building two blocks west appears to be sinking in the swell of a darkness that blows, rains.

Straight ahead, that's my horizon--the building and a row of thirty-year-old trees.

When I was a boy in these parts I was taller than any tree south of 25th avenue.

Next will come lightning when it comes.

The parking lot is full

Extra Foods is always busy. It's 6:15. We were at the lake longer than planned. H is still inside, buying chicken burgers, fish burgers, whatever. Must cut back on red meat. Damn. He's been in there forever. A man in a yellow t-shirt sings his way to the shopping cart shelter, a canary against the coalmine sky. It's going to storm. He smiles my way, slips in a loonie, smiles again. Likely read my mind. Fair enough. It wasn't too original. Ok, canary boy, how about this: a smart alec tweety birds my way, pushing his cage to Granny, his back to the sylvester-faced sky. Sorry buddy, Granny's marinated boneless skinless chicken breasts were on sale last week. A 4 kg box for $25.40. Pay more attention to your flyers. He looks up. It's getting darker. Yep, it's spitting. The drooling will come next. A gust hits the car. He smiles again. Alright then. The boom of Granny's broom.

Waiting for Tom

A splattered sparrow mandela, DI - ES - EL, a torso-sized window, empty deckchair at Long Lake (27 degrees, late May), plate of fries--all of this seen on t-shirts.

On the way here I saw one more hanging in a left rear window of an Olds fresh from the drycleaner's, a shirt the shape of a crushed lemon.

And BREAK[something] on a woman's t-shirt inside her jacket which she struggles to hold closed against a sharp wind. Just off work, I'm guessing, fresh sucker in her mouth. There it is: BREAK THROUGH.