Lapse

The clerk is tapping on the glass,

waiting for the time to pass.

The line is blank, the pen is ink,

and I am standing on the brink.

The street I lived on as a child

has gone away and turned quite wild.

It’s at the very edge of thought,

a fish that’s struggled and been caught.

I’ve chewed a patch of skin away,

my lip is raw and tinged with grey.

The name is there, just out of reach,

like a shell buried on the beach.