The anniversary

The residents of sector 7G
glazed hopelessly at the news,
although it had not yet announced
their plaintive Cassandra visions.
Rumours of a riot
tightened leather jackboots, creaking
as they had once heard the rope
of a swing
chirring against an ageing tree limb.
There was a little less oxygen
for all of them.

A squall of panic
swept through every room
just as the inaudible
white noise drone
of the announcement system
turned on, before the reassuring
familiar voice mechanically
called the curfew into being,
as always at nine o’clock.
Nothing ever happened,
they could not name a change,
yet still they stared at one other
across the tundras of their tables,
all wondering how they had come
to die with this person.

Categorized as musing

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s