Microcosm

The eclipse is total. She takes small steps, but tartan trolley crosses paths with 4x4 as it docks into its slot. Wheel orbits collide; gravity takes charge. Spinning over the eternity of dark tarmac, oranges bounce and roll into the distance, nestling into their own patch of blackness and cowering like small suns. The bottle of Cava will never now touch down on son-in-law’s birthday table; it explodes on first contact with painted white line and sends glass sharding away to form glistening nebulae. The contents fizz and plume into the air, leaping like flares bursting from the sun. Cherry tomatoes jolt from their plastic cocoon and patter away, red dwarves impelled into the distance. Only the ground is still, an impassive canvas where chaos spreads. The old lady, screaming silently, her mouth a ragged black hole, looks into her trolley, wondering when the Big Bang within will cease spewing.