From a newspaper journalist at the end of their shift

5.30; the familiar digits appear on the screen
signalling it’s time to go home.
But no-there’s breaking news.
A burst water main.
In an instant I see my plans for the evening-
catching up with friends, a meal, a long bath-
dissolve into the flood water.
This is what we do.
I watch the editors circle the newsdesk
secretly hoping for misfortune
in the lives of nameless, faceless “victims”.
They look for a palimpsest of the flooding
two years to the day.
But it isn’t there.
Just a burst pipe and a couple of closed roads.
When all avenues, and I, are exhausted
I retreat.
I drive towards the sun
making new plans.

July 3, 2009. Uncategorized.

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