How many times have I walked this way?
These hard marble kerb-stones – sometimes they smile.
The moon alone above gives a shady wink,
Ancient and conspiratorial.
There are no people in the street this night.
This is so old, this scene,
I feel like I’m walking in a postcard,
Dwindling down the road,
Swallowed by the steep buildings – a silhouette –
My seeing brain left on a spike somewhere behind.
The colour bleaches out, becomes sepia.
Any moment now
Someone I know will turn the whole thing over,
Looking for a message.
Copyright © Clive Donovan 2018
Clive’s published poems are scattered among dozens of online and print poetry magazines — some defunct, some thriving. One day he may gather some together and put them in a book.