Feels like midnight on a dead day
Guess I shouldn’t’a made that call.
Guess I shoulda just swallowed.
Guess I shoulda thoughta the right and the wrong.
Yeah, well.
The air is cool on my back,
This beer is cool to my touch.
Outside,
I can see a million sordid little
catastrophes
tripping over
unevenness.
But I don’t blame the sidewalk.
Yet.
Those people’s troubles are only imagined.
Colourful, poignant. A stick against my reluctant back.
Imaginings.
All I know is it’s close on midnight,
– though my watch says a quarter of eight –
‘Cos after centuries of uneven movements,
I jerked the hands free and made that call.
Which means it’s midnight now,
And the day is technically done,
And if I peer through the workings for just a bit more
I will see the rising sun.
ENDS