In Footscray

I cross the bridge
pull to a stop
wait for the left turn arrow
next to the international painted walls
of St Monica’s

a woman stops, props
nearly drops a box
– it’s half her size
adjusted, she takes a couple of steps
then props again
and again

I think of offering her a lift
pause to risk assess it.
the passenger in the car behind
winds down her window
wan a lift?      
                    I’m okay
she clearly isn’t
no, c’mon …
                     you’re going the other way
we can do a blockie …
                      mumble
the girl gets out
driver flips the boot
and the girl reaches
to carry half the weight

the lights change
and I feel like someone has ripped out
the final pages of my novel

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