LoCKeD iNto A SUndAy aFteRnoOn.

It’s the third Sunday in a row on a mid-week afternoon,

Even the days have forgotten themselves as we maroon.

The pool glimmers under the cruel greying sun,

Lightning passes, not a drop as the tempest moves on.

Only sour tastes linger as ravaged hopes remain,

Angry crowds couldn’t be dispersed by the inexistent rain.

The tale repeats itself ten times on page 263.

I look around, only empty eyes, it’s not just me.

I stare: “The laughter of an angel” - reads the title of the story;

The book´s, not ours, that would otherwise fit rather poorly.

“The snigger of the devil”, would tally much better,

His echo festers here in each pronounced word and letter.

A vacuum of thoughts circle snakelike in my head,

Biting its own tale in anger as it screams to be fed

Sitting between chairs present past future – I draw a blank,

As outside events unfold in their own glorious hellish prank.

So we pack bags just in case it blows apart, what to take along?

I went for my good rum, sketch pad, photos and a thong.

-Ledger Plaza Bangui- September 30, 2015