Lights out
pay your fares
the last ride’s begun
say your prayers.

If the time of revelations is upon me
I need another fifteen minutes for a look-see,

you can call me Thomas,
but I’ve been called so many names.

Sheets of lightning
bolts of blue
where are you?

busy on facetime
under the stairs,
down at the market
flogging your wares?

beware of
Peter Piper
he’s an army sniper
Old Mother Hubbard
has a 38 snub nose
in the cupboard,
nothing is what it seems.

The stars fade
it’s looking grim
if the reaper knocks
don’t let him in.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.