David Van-Cauter

Please wait for audio. Additional music and mixing by John Callaghan.

Soon

And soon it will be you, they said.

Just wait – soon it will be you.

I waited, watched the rain

worm down the window,

heard the voices in the room next door

subside and die,

sipped the cup of overbrewed coffee,

numb against my fingertips,

sensed the dripping tap,

the sweat spiralling,

the drain gurgling time.

And soon it will be you, they said.

Just wait – soon it will be you.

I had my signed forms ready,

I had my rucksack packed,

I had a map, a list of things

not to forget,

my silver hip flask, pen-knife,

automatic, rounds.

In my notebook I would write it down

when I got there, all of this,

I would leave

nothing out,

shine my torch into the bright lights,

burn my place among them.

I checked my watch,

but it had stopped.

And soon it will be you, they said.

Just wait – soon it will be you.

And I started counting in Japanese

and thought of how, in the next game,

I might make the shortlist,

even win.

I bit my tongue.

The boy in the seat across the hall

was staring, as if

he’d seen in me some kind of truth.

I cannot tell you what he wore

or if his hair was white or black –

all I felt was the wind on the

back of my neck

and the pain of my tired bones.

I shook my head, no.

He turned away.

I don’t know if I heard them say

that it was me – now it was me.

My face, my name, my bleeding tongue

were buried in my hands.