Regina De Rozario: Notes, pictures, and other fragments

(An old poem in lieu of a post, for now)

The end of all things

No one moves
in this storm

It stills traffic,
reduces the motorway

to a humming sea
draped in red

and gold
discs.

From the caress
of my car

I feel like Noah
at the end of all things.

Watching umbrellas
nodding in twos,

nudged grey
by the rain.

In the corner
a shelterless man

Staggers
as if from a war

With arms
full of cardboard

bent
in the water fall

The soundtrack
to this silent film

Is a radio voice
reporting

two collisions
not far from here.

Metronome wipers
unveil

the various heights
we all fall from.