By Kobus Moolman

On his way home along the N1, he stops in the parking lot
of the Winelands One-Stop.
He drags his legs slowly to the Wimpy.
He sits down by the window and orders a Mega cappuccino,
with artificial sweetener instead of sugar.
He opens his leather bag – the one that his ex, and now late,
wife gave to him.
He takes out Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong.
He takes out his notebook – a Croxley JD623 with 192 lined pages.
He takes out his black Bic ballpoint pen – the one with the broken clip.
He closes his eyes. He puts his left hand over his eyes.
He rubs his tired eyes.
He is listening – not to the sounds of the restaurant
and the high-pitched muzak.
He is listening out for something taking place inside himself.
It is there that all of his life is taking place,
there now inside him – amongst the plastic furniture
and the greasy leftovers and the pink balloons of his soul –
that his real self is to be heard.