CHARLIE
Nobody warned me
that I would grow up,
or could, or should,
or had done so already.
It’s just that one morning,
as I startled awake,
a step was skipped,
a heartbeat missing.
There was no trauma,
really, just the kettle
blowing its whistle.
It’s coffee time.
Outside, all was quiet,
a refugee waiting
for the gates of his camp
to one day open.
(Image: “The Persistence of Memory” by Salvador Dali, Wikipedia)
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 