It's Still Life

Gorillas on the High Street

This is what happens when gorilla shops move in. Pirañas on the High Street, eating up the small shops. Devourers of familiarity. Over there is the store where I bought that white blouse, bright as sunlight. It’s a rusted sign and soaped windows now. Can’t see in; can’t see out. Next door was a bookshop. They served coffee on the veranda. Not now. All these storefronts are empty, like dusty exiles. Victims of economy. That’s what happens when a virus sweeps the High Street. It’s a jagged tooth, leaving the pansies and geraniums shivering in the wind — waiting for snowflakes.

it empties the heart
voices of receding days
cold as a snowflake

written for dVerse Haibun #23