Dean Sobers
John has words for Jill.
She mishears them over the windowsill.
Jack confronts John at the barbers.
The story is told at the Smugglers.
It’s righted before it grows violent.
My laughter is part of the ambience.
And then I ask about this Audi I saw
rolled onto its roof onto the pavement.
The police trapped it in flimsy cordon.
For a few days it sat there
like an installation.
Then, suddenly, it was gone.
I read around but found no evidence.
What gives, guys? Who flipped this car?
Did anyone see it? Hear it?
Did I just imagine what I saw?
I think I kind of liked it. It was like art.
I felt like a lego man standing by that car.
Jim—you must’ve walked past it.
Did I dream it? Did I dream it?
Someone—confirm it!
When I was a child
community was given.
Now, I have friends
but none in walking distance.
The Audi enigma happened.
But John, Jill, Jack and Jim
are figments.
Jim says he knows
the vehicle’s owners
but works shifts
and hasn’t spoke to them.
Jack’s stepson’s friend
heard whispers.
Our descendants
will see fewer stars in the sky.
Driven apart as they are, into eternity.