(Inspired by TS Eliot)
Damp mist circles my legs
swirling, as a creature,
wet nose sniffing me
as if to approve my suitability
for passage.
Under the meagre streetlamps
the dampness hangs lank
like fine muslin,
I pause mindlessly
to await the next pedestrian
then gingerly move away
my freedom gained.
Before the corner, I glance back
to see the vague silhouette
trapped within the fussing mist
and no other in sight.
The bright-lit boulevard
feels a safer place,
the incandescent shop fronts
valiant, spear the mist with
savage goring rents,
its threadbare banners
cast about the damp path.
© Graham Sherwood 06/2015
No comments:
Post a Comment