Two Minutes Silence
Hastings is bustling.
Only teenagers and night workers
are still in bed.
My new cardigan
compliments that
circa nineties look
I was going for.
The rain starts.
I follow the herd
towards
Priory Meadow.
The centre is light and full of sound.
Wet soles squeak
to Ed Sheeran’s
new Pop ballad.
The music stops.
An announcement is made
in that precise, nasal accent
all Americans think we have.
I walk towards the nearest bench,
playing musical chairs
with the man next to me.
Everyone stands in silence as the clock chimes.
I am leaning forwards slightly.
Elbows on knees, hands joined,
as I hold my wallet in front of me.
In my line of view
two shop assistants giggle.
I hear trolleys being pushed behind the scenes.
I hear children being shushed by parents.
I hear distant gulls.
I hear
nothing
else.
Two minutes last a decade.
We remember those who died
so that we can be free.
Music starts again and people move
as if switched back on.
I am
proud
of my purchase.
I continue on my way,
in search of something more.
Photograph by David Marcu
