the din of musak and milk frothers,
clatter of cups and kitchen,
into the grey chill of George Street.
A silent stream of people glide in either direction,
slipping on into their lives.
Then staccato pips of a crossing signal,
roar of a bus, several cars
and a small truck
intrude themselves into our being.
A benefit of my goal to read 1001 poems is that I am gradually beginning to think more poetically, to notice moments that could be captured in a poem, perhaps similar to how a photographer learns to see the light and composition that would make a good photograph. Yesterday as I stepped out of a cafe onto Dunedin’s main street there was a moment of silence with no traffic noise just at that instant before the traffic signals changed and life seemed to rush onwards again.