Air BnB

When I saw the car, there, 

as I walked past in my new life,

I felt for unfound keys in pockets,

put bags down, looking at my feet,

and life fell out onto the street,

spilling time, not mine, not now, 

but then, but how could my car 

be where then was there?

The bed, left like mine, here

where I have been before,

not here but just next door,

the bottles that sixteen years ago

would have queued up like these,

left below the sink, our favourite drink,

spill time, not mine,

Another’s, who was yesterday

asleep where I will sleep today.

I follow footsteps I have left behind

unbinding traces of another time. 

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