h1

Late Night

August 13, 2013

Harvest moon, empty streets. A man,

older than young, clenching a rock,

crouching on the pavement outside

the new mall’s car -park – absorbed.

 

Late night, lamp light, no-one around but I

beneath the trees beside the bus station

and he on the curb above blood, fur,

and his own long shadow.

 

I wasn’t one to fight, but I felt it inside,

a knot feeling for its moment,

but I wasn’t one to fight, so when,

after he paced around, threw the rock,

ran down the street, I followed.

It was the least and most I could do.

Death outside a fast food store?

It was the least I could do.

 

His home wasn’t bright, just a strip

down the door that he slid through.

Leaving me, sat outside on the low stone fence.

Long grass, old Mitsubishi, red brick.

All around the neighbours houses

were doppelgangers. Dots in a broad picture.

No stories and no reasons at all. And this

just another house on a street: anybody’s.

 

AJG

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2 comments

  1. I enjoyed this. I like the voice and the first two stanzas create this sense of foreboding. The third stanza is the best in my opinion especially considering the “a knot feeling for its moment” line and also the repetition of “I wasn’t one to fight” in the first three lines is a great touch.


  2. Thank you so much for joining us at wePoets, it’s much appreciated and we’d be happy to showcase your poetry should you want to share it. 🙂



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