It’s the seasonal adjustment
the must have in the window
because it’s Autumn and
the need before the shops close.
I am frightened of the shadows flitting
past the evening door
and the ladies of the darkness who want
and then want some more and I have
nothing left to give them.
November’s tapping lightly
sounds are muffled by its snow
I am looking for escape routes
there is nowhere left to go.
not too distant.
many years back in the past
when the giggling of schoolboys
ploughed up time and the laughter
seemed to last
beyond the echoes that returned
and being old was just a nightmare,
time was the bridges that we burned.
© 2019, John Smallshaw.