September 25, 2011

It was after the Tottenham Riots
and after the trouble at work,
after the cuts, and Libya, Syria,
the death of the singer
the dancing at the carnival.

The day after she came back home
we drank tea in her kitchen
poured from a saucepan
boiled on a stove.

We walked down her quiet street.

Small leaves, heaped into crevices.

It was the day after they discovered

that time travel might be possible.
We ate lunch, lemonade and cups of tea.
Light pressed in against the windows.

We sat there in her kitchen.
It was after the heat
and the turning

the day after particles
broke every rule.

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