terrace

I came home and there was a
half-smoked cigarette on the kitchen floor
still very orange at the end
still very new-looking
except
not in its entirety.

I came home in my clothes
from the night before
twice:
slightly before midday the first time
and slightly after, the second.

I came home to half a bottle of sparkling Lindauer
sitting, uncorked
on the passage-way table
I don't think it belongs to anyone who lives here.

I came home and went straight back out again
coffee curdled in my stomach as I navigated the Aucklanders
out for their standard Sunday stroll

the sun was shining.

I came home and was alone
because
everyone else was
out

I don't see them much or for long, the other
bodies who live here
but I investigate
the things they leave behind.