cold morning vision

Sunday morning,

mist,

trying to shake the hangover,

on my way to the city to our Zen group’s AGM

wondering

whether I should swallow some codeine

or

if that is not appropriate.

I choose not to.

I see a man

who

seems to be in some kind of state.

fish eyes,

uncomprehending.

walking fast down the edge of the highway,

hands in pockets,

head tilted in an unnatural way.

he bends down

and

picks up a cask of wine and shakes it,

then throws it in disgust.

empty.

I make the assumption that he is an addict

of some sort,

on his way to the man.

I keep driving at 60 kph with my wipers on.

hanging for a piss.

dry eyes.

I know we are all as good as dead.

wipers now start to screech.

clouds fall everywhere.