A LATE VISITOR

Written by: daver austin

A LATE VISITOR

Sleepless, he’d taken seat
In an overstuffed chair

Lamp not lit, nor diversion sought,
Just sitting there

Worrying on about problems of day
Listening for answers night wouldn’t say

                II

I hear wheels of a horse drawn coach
In London Town fog
     “Bring it round, you merry coachman
     Bring it round!”
Off the avenue where I stand
Hat in clouds, shoes on the ground 
The in between a fright and swimming round
Hear?    between those dock, dock sounds
My shouting voice?    
     “Bring it round, you cocksure coachman
     Bring it round!”

               III

All’s quiet
Snow, I’m sure, will drift to ten feet
Outside the window – or more

Old downy dog’s acurl in a corner
When I’m off he’ll choose the rocker

The feeling’s like one preceding
A mystic midnight meeting 
Of spider and fly
Or mice in a breadbox, eating

All’s quiet    all’s well
And the old clock’s ticking…ticking… ticking…