Comments about Jaime Peters
I am waiting for a lift.
I make a solitary figure, sat on a road sign.
Above me, the clouds grow leaden.
The portent of rain darkens the morning.
And I am without an umbrella.
Waiting for my ride seems to take a while – perhaps – too long.
What is keeping him?
A car comes along, the hiss of its tyres grow nearer.
The engine grows loud.
But the car isn’t him.
It rounds the bend and shoots on by, the driver oblivious to my plight.
But I am invisible to him.
I am irrelevant to his life as he is to mine. ...