Thursday, 6 September 2018

october 1962

october 1962, 
and the nights are drawing in;
vinegar steams, and the chip shop licks
a boy’s fears, wounded of the day.
it is dark outside in the noose of night;
inside the chippy, the chrome shines 
and the hot pie glass gazes back.
floating in the gravitas, piles of pies 
are squared to give the arena 
its mezzanine floor, that clicks to the heels
of the "tweet now?" birds with their 
teddy-boy beaus, soon to be
embracing the dark night, 
kissing under the street light penumbra,
where the youngsters pine in the orange shadow.
smarting, the day is licked, time is battered,
the moon’s wine has clouded vision.
the bed covers that wait will say nothing 
about the wet dreams, and the rain that
runs in tears, that roll down the runnels 
of tonight, until tomorrow rewinds the clock, 
and sets love’s timer running once again.

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