Friday Fragmented

The open window behind me, night hidden behind curtains.
The bedsit in its final incarnation.
A week today I hope to greedily hold
new keys to a new flat.
Summer-hot sun, and a coolness, somewhere
in the air.
Wait for these days to pass.
I hear the sea
or maybe the traffic on Western Road.
There is a siren, and now there is not.