2 p.m.

At 2 p.m. 
The afternoon sun 
increases its market share.
Without advertising.


Harsh light discolours the 
lives of colourful people.
2 p.m. when foods await
their destiny in rusty machinery.

Women watch reruns
of moisture-laden soaps
and hungry pigeons
strive for attention.

2 p.m. as I walk into an eager classroom. 
With you. As professors nurture
half-baked dreams.
So do you.

2 p.m. when I look at you.
From my mind’s eye.
You hold my dream
in the palm of your hand.

Hold My dream.
In the palm of Your hand.