breaking the dawn

at the hum of the almost broken washing machine
he was entering his last bills in the spreadsheet
with the pedantism of an old accountant
dwelling into her last words

with a simple “good night”

she had put to sleep the love they had

“I’ve played this game a thousand times”
she said

not for once
recognising she plays that game alone

he calmly poured a glass of wine
from the last bottle they bought together
knowing that this “thing”
the four periods they had
has just became alive and dead at the same time

now

until the new day
the new week
the new life…

coming so soon…
blue monday breaking the dawn
and the sky’s no longer obscured by the doubts

listening to:

   “one of these mornings”
    “won’t be very long”
    “you will look for me”
    “and I’ll be gone”

driving on his way to work
mourning for their profound loss

* * *

as the washing machine just finished
it became as quiet as before
and he felt the growing lump in his throat
as the poem received its last final touches
while his bills still waited
scattered receipts all over his desk

all undone