inside and outside

as you sit in your room,

your own space

with a painting on the wall you managed to keep

from your student days,

a few books,

last week’s newspaper with coffee stains

and crumbs from vegemite toast,

you sit and feel the world out there,

the weather in its non-life,

the wind,

the rain,

the ubiquitous sunlight,

the rampage of trucks and planes and pedestrians,

ex-lovers,

future lovers,

enemies,

colleagues,

the man who will carve your coffin walking around as a young boy

with a Paddle Pop in his hand,

feeling it

beyond your room,

perhaps a beer in your hand,

or a note from you neighbour’s wife,

a crossword puzzle,

an unread book about Zen you borrowed from the library,

questions,

soft breathing before a window pane.

fog.