Evening Interlude
Rain-soaked 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, the leaves
tremble in the trees by the park,
sent shivering by the wind's insistent edge,
and the lights along the distant freeway
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 soft and gentle sleep.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
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