Sitting on an easy chair

in the space between boredom

and sleepiness, I watch,

wineglass in hand, as passersby hurry

along the pavement.

 

They walk, past the oak

which sits by the roadside

where a nail juts out, imperceptible,

hungry for a cloth or a skin,

hungry as I am thirsty

for another drink.

 

They walk.

I watch.

the nail waits.