A swift shower made space.
The book’s pages turned to the past.
Springtime clouds stole sunrise.
On went the living room lights.
Through the walls, routines revolved.
Alarm clocks, flushes and showers
pulling the marchers to attention,
lining up their drills.
Niceties soundtracked kettle boils,
bag packing, coat shuffling
and the lightening bolt chords of zips,
encasing their passengers like armour.
Out to their worlds they departed
towards another broadcast starring
the same ever suspended in time
story arcs of familiar acts.
The lines of scripts were agreeable;
everyone plodding through their day
besides the bookworm who bounced,
charged with ideas from another time.