Another Sunday Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Sunday

Long is Sunday, empty streets
a tunnel of silence,
damp pavement, water trickles
into gutters.

Burnt matches, fag butts and
yesterday leave form a rust
brown dike, it bursts and floods
tiny pebbles-

flowers on the window sills
admire sift rain on glass.
A life spent in a pot fear
no weed and see no evil.

A black cat decides not to
cross the road,
a child in yellows wellies
dreams of tomorrow.