I'm sat on a chair
at a folding table
in a near empty flat
this autumn night,
typing into a laptop
and waiting to move
what little furniture
I have left.
In my head just now
I counted nineteen
- a lifetime spanning
three times as many
years - discounting
a couple of places
I lived in a mere
few months.
Running on empty,
like waking alone
in an unfamiliar
bed.
© copyright Russell Cavanagh