Restless, milky surface in a cup of coffee whirls about a spoon
sweetly against ceramic tinkled,
an earthquake
six in the morn.
Five minutes later our village only road is full of us
hastily dressed people
being slightly frantic
repeating endlessly what they had done
(it appeared that the women had been doing modest domestic choirs
and the men were just awake waiting for their coffee,
one women blushed and said nothing)
when the reticent tremor struck.
Dogs are milling about,
but I notice that they are not terrified
only exited because we’re
I take that as a good sign
animal can sense disaster before us.
Indoors I look up the ceiling beams look ok
and cat that ain’t mine sleeps on the windowsill is disinterested in me
and the noise in our street.
It’s now seven o’clock
and I decide to do as the cat.