Rehearsal on My Street

Everyone on my street is rehearsing. I woke up and the suburb was wrong. Not grey.

Not destroyed. Just off. The colours were too loud, like the ground

view of something you only ever see from a drone shot on the news. A place after an

airstrike, but frozen before the smoke. My jaw hurt like I'd been clenching

my teeth all night. I don't remember sleeping. My mouth tasted metallic,

like I'd been holding coins under my tongue. I went to the front door. The air smelled

like wet cement and petrol with something sweet underneath that made my stomach

turn. Outside, every house was moving. Families stepping