INTERFACE

My reflection
looks back at me

from the winter
darkened window

every now &
then - borrowing a bus

or a passing truck
to use for a brain

& then: the emptiness
of night flooding

in again or
a clutch of pedestrians

huddle against
the driving rain

drifting through my face
like long lost ghosts.

Rain
turning to sleet.

"So..?" my reflections
enquires of me

"...what are we
going to do then?"

A BMW
its accusing eyes

I watch the traffic
of its thoughts

having to admit
that it hurt more

than a
bit

that, I "...just
don't know..?"

Some crazy zombie leaves
throw themselves at the window

as if trying to
devour my face.

I hope the glass
will hold.

My reflection saying
nothing, but:

I could see it
thought I was

a disgrace
as to the who

the hell
I thought

I was

a police siren
screaming through the smile

I had nailed on

I could feel
I was not

going to
like me

for a long, long
time.