Something about Seven

The last fingers of autumn prostrate themselves before the winter breeze.  

A small woman coming the other way 

starts in the middle of a conversation,

something about seven degrees.

I put my thoughts down on the footpath,  

shake them free of my ears,

 and straighten my eyes for her.

“I beg your pardon?” I say politely 

Her face has a pointiness leading in to chubby cheeks

and her brows are the sort that squint indefinitely.

She hasn’t really stopped.  “Tuesday and Wednesday,”

rushes her tongue “top of seven.  We just have the worst

climate!”  Her head is shaking earnestly.

I smile and nod and utter some non-words of agreement.

We pass each other, then and it’s only when I get home

that I remember where I left my thoughts

two hundred metres back, icing over as evening falls.

8 thoughts on “Something about Seven

  1. I’ve been caught out by people walking by me, talking, and I reply to them, and it turns out they’re wireless on earbuds and a mobile phone. 😂 But I’m curious as to what you were thinking?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love your poem. The cold definitely does something to the way we think. It’s been getting progressively colder here as the day wears on. My computer tells me it is now 9 degrees. My thoughts are icing over too. 🙂


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