Martin Auster: ‘Angela’


Angela, who lived alone,
Would sit quietly in the early morning,
Listening to the city:
The background hum, the sound
Of traffic near and far, and now and then
The noise of a particular vehicle
Passing her house, a bus, a motorbike,
And once a week the garbage truck,
Stopping and starting, reaching out for bins,
Heaving them over its shoulder
And setting them down with a bang.
One day there came an ambulance,
To pick up Angela and take her away.
God knows where.

Martin Auster

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