Afternoon Respite

A languid limp
made him redundant as our click-
clack
replaced
the thump of files. The clang
of 
steel 
plates on makeshift tables drown 
out 
his 
wife’s quibbling better than the 
chatter 
of 
his 
grandchildren.

The Bookseller's Lament

Speaking to strangers
of Mersault’s moral ambiguity
while
windowed wheels lit within
by slim screens of modernity whisk the children
towards tomorrows,
the bookseller recounts the death
of salesmen.
Four books later, the
subdued smell of unsold books
lingers long
on the pavement.
Here, I drink sugarcane juice.