On the edge

It’s brutally cold but it won’t last.

When the day dawns properly,

that forgiving sun will suck the chill back into

itself before most people are even out of bed.

But I’m not most people.

I’m a  broken little stranger.

Out of my place and out of my time zone.

popping up like a Meercat at 4 am and walking in the empty city streets,

“Sunday morning coming down”.

There are people sleeping out here,

curled into raggedy little balls with their pathetic clutch of possessions tight around them.

And insomniacs and night workers of all kinds.

Crazy runners with headlamps making weird shadows as they pant through the dull dawn streets.

And me.

Falling in beside me, keeping pace,

Step-for-step like a dark well-trained dog, pads loneliness.

I try to shoo it off,

Send that naughty dog home.

He doesn’t go far, just pretends to leave.

we walk together- side by side.

And the company protects me from fear and danger.

I am a person with nothing to lose,

Stepping through life on the edge of the glass.

No fear of falling.

The sun is rising now, day is breaking.

The first people out have very small children with them.

No prizes for guessing why they are out so early.

And  awkward holiday makers;

they can’t sleep either.

A few wandering grumpy couples;

they’d rather be in public than than home alone together.

There is a strange camaraderie amongst us,

Peeping at the city in its underwear,

Catching it unawares with no lace or fancy frills.

We are the witnesses to the streets without feet,

barred windows and dirty doorways.

I like being part of this,

the hush before the roar begins.

In the warm afternoon,

They flock to the footy

by the thousands,

Crushed together over those same cobbles.

Focused and purposeful.

Our quiet  dawn nothing to write home about.

30 th April

Melbourne