Evening Interlude
Rain-drenched streets gleam
in the glow of the sodium lamps
as the second shift waits in the bus
queue, chattering like children after a
Saturday matinee. Moon-bright puddles
flash, and leaves tremble in the trees by the
park, sent shivering by the wind's insistent edge,
and the lights along the distant motorway glimmer,
red, bound for the harsh, gaunt hills to the north,
and white, for the cities below this ragged,
redbrick town and southeast to London.
The bus rumbles the people away to
their homes and silence settles on
this hill of dreams, where one by
one the porch lights go out, the
blue-grey TVs flicker off, and
the neighbourhood falls into
a sweet and gentle sleep.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2008
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