Afternoons Go Nowhere & Imperfect Knowledge
Butter hardens in the dish overnight: the tourist office keeps winter hours.
The year’s last cruise ship has left the harbour and the voices of Italy, New York, Japan,
are heard no more in the street. Afternoons go nowhere. Dark falls early, finds folk
up ladders, spades in earth, work unfinished. Radiators cough into life:
plumbers and sweeps can’t find light enough to get round, clear out the debris.
Somehow no one is ever quite ready for this, as if they half hoped
time too would let things slide, be up some ladder finishing what started late.