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Poem

It was hours before dawn and I could not sleep.
The gloomy fog overpowered the cold dark street.
The street lights offered patches of misty light.
Rain had glossed the pavement, in the dead of night.
From my window I saw the publican escorting old Joe.
Put him out in the street, he closed the pub hours ago.
My yawning fogged the window as he toddled home.
Last of the rain flowed down the gutters leaving foam.
The eerie silence matched the cold dark grey scene.
A more lonely looking place, there had never been.
Scraps of paper and food wrappers were tumbling,
Pushed along by a breeze as I watched Joe stumbling.
He made it to his gate down the end of the road.
A truck carrying newspapers slung off its load,
Plastic wrapped and landed at the newsagent’s door.
I hoped to watch the deserted street, just a bit more.
To see the sunrise and it be busy with people galore.
Such a transformation was worth waiting for.
To see vehicles appear, all come alive in early morn.
But my bed called and I fell asleep before the dawn.

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