Evening Hours
Evening Hours
An azure sky is being defeated
by a shadow world where
a persistent half-moon is already
making its way up the silken expanses
of blackest night
A horse whinneys, spooked
by the rattle of an old
lawn mower on its way to the shed.
Mosquitoes, agitated, smell blood
in veins that evade their foray,
then try to find egress
through kitchen window screens
A limousine glides through
the dusk, empty, but proud
A raggedy convertible pulls up
The driver pets the fur of his
small dog
Both must stop at a traffic light
while an old man with one leg gone
is sweating to get his wheelchair
across the street before
the light changes
A silver haze from too much heat,
lasting too long, shivers over
shadows in the park, where a
street man has curled up on
a wooden bench.
The half-moon tips its crescent
toward a statue of a soldier
on horseback, saber raised,
hat on straight
A slip-slap of slippers sounds
on the still-warm concrete
as a young woman puts out
a letter to be gathered
by the mail man.
The evening smells of roses
attar burning the nose with musky beauty
Murky pools of gathering night
darken the corner the corner
where daisies grow
Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2018
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