12:38 Tuesday Afternoon
In bed with a burning flu at 12:38
on a Tuesday afternoon in
the dead suburbs of Sydney. A
small black radio playing
loud in the dry adjoining white
and beige bathroom to
muffle the annoying sound of
stray birds from my
neighbour’s backyard. Old portable
fan on in my bedroom to
muffle the annoying sound of
the small black radio. Dull
and raining outside. Talking to
the clouds. Halfway through
Sartre’s, “Nausea”. A book I have
tried to read over a dozen
times without ever finishing. Eyes
rapidly blinking. Scratching
my crown under the thick, dark
hairline, revealing instant
white flakes of discarded psoriasis
on the black sweaty
sheets. Suddenly trapped in a divine
picture we once took on a
clear perfect summers day during
better times. Hopelessly
weeping inside the grey heartbroken
walls. Clutching at impossible
ghosts. Wishing she was still here.
Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Writing of his has appeared in CitiZens for Decent Literature, Midwest Quarterly, Gargoyle, New York Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, and elsewhere.
